


Holding out for a Hero

by knifeboye



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Badass Keith, Badass Lance, Let Shiro Rest 2k18, M/M, Minor Shay/Hunk, Vigilante!Keith, allura is gay, keith is bad at flirting, keith is gay and doesn’t listen and shiro has a headache, lance is a mess, reporter!Lance, safe klance, shes a lesbian harold, shiro is like professor x, they figure it out tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-05 05:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13380825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifeboye/pseuds/knifeboye
Summary: Lance is a reporter who needs his big break. Keith is a vigilante who may or may not exist.or, the superhero/reporter au nobody asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

“Do you think it’s too late for a major career change?”

Pidge took a moment to look up from her computer and at Lance, a brow raised in a teasing manner.

"Sure, Lance. Twenty-five years old is a great point in your life to drop your dreams and everything you've ever worked for."

Lance traced a pattern on the table. "Maybe I could be a dog walker. I like dogs."

Pidge smiled at that, giving Lance a look.

“Work that bad, today?” she asked.

Lance sulked, burying his face in his palm. “I have to write a fluff piece on that Taylor Swift interview. The one with the puppies.”

 _“Aw,”_ a voice exclaimed as Hunk came into Lance's line of view, placing a coffee down in front of him. Hunk leaned onto the back of Lance’s chair as he wiped his hands on his apron. “I saw that interview! It was cute.”

Lance gave his best friend an unamused look, and Pidge not-so-subtly held back a snort.

“Did I say something wrong?” Hunk asked nervously, straightening up as he looked from Pidge to Lance.

“Lance has to write a piece on that video,” Pidge announced. Hunk's face quickly took on a bewildered look.

“Man, is Iverson _still_ assigning you all those filler articles?” he exclaimed. Lance responded with a dejected nod before he buried his head in his arms, complete with a dramatic, miserable moan.

"The lab is looking for a temp to do coffee runs if you're interested, Lance," Pidge spoke up.

Lance lifted up his head to give her a glare. "Ha-ha."

Pidge smirked into her mug and let out a mumble that sounded suspiciously like "just trying to be helpful".

Lance's phone buzzed with an alarm, and he glanced at the time before letting out another sad moan.

“I don’t wanna go back to work,” he complained.

“Aw chin up, buddy,” Hunk tried to soothe, placing a warm hand on Lance’s back. “Where’s the enthusiastic journalist we all know and love?”

“He died from being forced to write shitty articles for two years,” Lance replied before removing his face from behind his fingers and grabbing his coffee. He held the paper cup in his hands, thumb running over the logo “Balmera&Garrett”.

“Do you guys ever question your careers?” Lance murmured, looking up at his friends.

Pidge shrugged as she continued to type away at her computer, letting out a nonchalant “nah” just as Hunk spoke up.

“I mean, I co-own a really well-off bakery with my amazing and beautiful fiancee. I’m kinda living out my dream, here.”

Lance sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I get it- you’re both happy.”

Hunk stilled, worry flicking over his face. “Lance, I know it may not seem like it, right now, but you’re kind of living out your dream, too. It’s just… taking some time for you to fully get there. But you will, I promise.”

“This isn’t my dream,” Lance retorted. “I wanted to be a big-time reporter. I wanted to write about things that _matter._  Important articles about things I'm passionate about- things that help people! I’ve been working at the Daily Journal for  _years,_ and all I’ve written about are old people, fluffy animals, and adorable little kids.”

“Hey, I liked your article about the cat that saved that baby,” Hunk complimented.

Lance sighed. “It’s garbage, Hunk. It’s all trash. And I just… I feel like...” Lance broke off with a groan, shaking his head. He picked up his coffee, stood up, and slung on his messenger bag. “Never mind. I’m gonna be late. I’ll text you guys, later.”

Hunk and Pidge met eyes, both looking concerned, but they bid their farewells. Then Hunk jumped, straightening up as a smile lit his face.

“Oh! Lance, wait one sec,” he instructed before quickly making his way to the counter, saying something to his fiancee, Shay. She smiled and nodded before walking back into the kitchen and bringing out a tray. Steam rose from it, and Hunk grabbed one of the pastries, putting it in a paper bag along with a napkin before making his way back to Lance.

“This is for you,” he smiled, looking both proud of himself and mischievous at the same time. Lance blinked before taking the bag and opening it up.

He paused, eyes wide.

“They’re your mom’s apple empanadas _._ She finally gave me the recipe.”

Lance felt overwhelmed with emotion, and the warm smell of the pastry gave him a new inkling of hope. He looked up at his best friend and gave him a big smile before pulling him in for a hug.

“Thanks, man.”

Hunk hugged him back, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Of course,” he spoke softly before pulling away and meeting Lance's eyes with a determined look. “Don’t give up, okay? I know your big break is coming. I can feel it.”

Lance gave Hunk a quivery smile before nodding, wiping at his wet eyes. “Alright, yeah. You’re right.”

“Duh. Now go get ‘em.”

* * *

 Lance stretched from his seat at his desk, popping his back as he let out a sigh.

He’d finished his article. The whole process had been painstaking, and every fibre of his being had fought the process, but he’d finally finished it.

Lance had never had so much trouble writing six hundred words of nothing.

He glanced at the clock. It was already seven-thirty. He’d stayed way too late….

Shutting down his computer, Lance gathered his things and made his way out of his cubicle.

Voices gathered his attention.

His coworkers Flo, Nyma, and Rolo were gathered around Flo’s desk, speaking in low voices, though they were the only ones left in the office. Lance caught Flo’s excited tone, and stopped in his tracks, concealed from their view.

“--she went looking for him over in Midtown by that one skeezy bar- Vrepit-Sa, I think?”

Rolo scoffed. “Well, that was her first mistake. There’s no gang activity there- just some low-lives that jack people’s wallets.”

“He’s speaking from experience, by the way,” Nyma teased.

“It was my first week in the city, give me a break.”

 _“Anyways,”_ Flo continued, “Pretty much every reporter in Altea is scrambling to get the first scoop on him.”

“Good luck to them,” Rolo replied. “Nobody’s ever seen the guy. I bet he’s a myth- just something to spook the criminals into hiding.”

“He’s real! That Galra gang got hit. It’s gotten them angry, but they’re laying low from what I’ve heard.”

“It’s probably just some rival group,” Rolo rebutted, “not some _shade person--”_

 _“The Shadow,”_ Flo corrected. “That’s what they’re calling him. And I bet he’s real.”

“Well, either way,” Nyma interrupted them both, “I’m sure as hell not risking my life to get info on someone who may or may not exist. If nobody has even _seen_ him, then I’m not taking any chances. As if we’d even have a Super in our city.”

Flo spoke up.

“It doesn’t change the fact that Iverson’s gonna be looking for someone to send to the figurative guillotine. He’d do anything to have the Daily Journal be the first news company to gather evidence on this guy. I bet he’s gonna make the announcement real soon.”

“I just feel sorry for the poor sucker that actually takes the job,” Rolo sighed.

* * *

 Lance plopped onto his well-worn couch, flicking through channels on his T.V. as he balanced a bowl of tomato soup on his lap. He barely processed the screen on the boxy television set as image after image appeared and flickered away.

His mind was reeling.

If his coworkers’ gossip was right, Altean Daily Journal would be looking for someone to cover the rumors of the city’s strange new vigilante.

Every story on The Shadow was just that- a story. There had yet to be any physical description, face to face encounter, or proof of the hero.

It sounded like a fairytale, really. Some person that nobody’s actually seen, slipping out from the shadows to save helpless old ladies and take out mobsters before slipping away- not saying a word or leaving any evidence of their existence.

If Lance took this opportunity… it could be his big break. Just like Hunk said.

Though, Lance was fairly sure his best friend would strongly oppose this venture if he became aware of it.

_"--another supposed encounter of none other than the mysterious Shadow Man that has all of Altea talking."_

Lance's thumb froze on the remote, and his eyes widened as he quickly raised the volume.

"Earlier this evening the two day search for Elizabeth Bowen, the eight-year old daughter of our city's mayor, Charlize Bowen, came to an end when she showed up on her parents' doorstep- exhausted and panicked, but otherwise unharmed. City police are currently investigating the alleged kidnapping of Ms. Bowen- a crime that is reported to have been connected to recent gang activity. When questioned on the matter of her escape from her captors, young Elizabeth is reported to have said, and I quote 'The Shadow Man saved me. He brought me home'.

"The previously mentioned rumors of gang activity taking part in the kidnapping of Ms. Bowen are still under heavy investigation. Many believe the city's new 'vigilante' to be the true culprit of this crime, but our mayor has a different take on the matter."

The scene cut to the mayor where she stood by the gate of her manor. Her eyes were red-rimmed and tired, her hair lightly frazzled, but she held her famously strong composure for the camera.

"I don't care who he is or what anyone is saying. That man- that _hero_ brought my daughter back to me. For that, he has my complete gratitude. That is all I have to say."

The scene cut back to the news reporter.

"We have yet to learn if Ms. Bowen was able to catch a glimpse of her savior, but- due to his reputation- we believe our secretive hero and his identity will remain safe in the shadows as he continues to watch over this city and its people--"

Lance was leaned so far forward that his bowl lost balance on his lap, spilling onto his carpet.

 _"Shit!"_  he exclaimed, putting the bowl aside before cutting off the television and beelining it to the kitchen to get some towels. As he grabbed some his phone vibrated with a notification from where it laid on his kitchen counter. Lance reached over and grabbed it, checking the message.

It was an email notification from Iverson. There would be a meeting tomorrow at eleven.

Lance's thoughts were going a mile a minute as he scrubbed at his carpet.

Iverson was going to pick up on the momentum The Shadow was leaving behind. What with the mayor's daughter and all the other recent reports, Lance just knew the press would be hot on the topic. Iverson would have to act quickly to be the first to get the scoop on it all. He'd be sending people out- one probably to harass the mayor with questions, maybe another to confront the local police... and another to do some extra digging.

And Lance knew which job he'd end up choosing. Though now he was wondering about practicality of it all....

If The Shadow could manage to save the mayor's daughter and bring her back to her home without showing his face, how did Lance expect to ever be the first to put an image to him? It seemed impossible... far too impossible for a filler-journalist whose most recent article was about puppies.

Lance frowned. No. He wouldn't think that way. This was his only chance. There was no room for doubts. He _had_ to do this. He _would_ do this.

How hard could it be?

* * *

When Lance walked into the office the next morning, it turned out that his assumptions (and Flo's) had been correct. Everybody was chatting about the last-minute meeting, and there were occasional mentions of The Shadow. Lance overheard two of his coworkers talking from the desk next to his.

“Did you hear how he saved the mayor’s daughter?” The first girl mentioned in a low tone.

The other person made a noncommittal noise. “I don’t know. Seems fishy to me.”

“How so?”

“It seems like there’s something else at play, here. It’s all just too convenient. How do we know this guy is who he says he is? I mean, he keeps himself hidden- how is that trustworthy?”

The first girl rolled her eyes playfully. _“Some_ people value privacy, Sam.”

“Yeah, and _some_ people have lots of bad shit they need to keep hidden from the public eye.”

“The mayor released a new statement just this morning. It was confirmed that the kidnapping was related to gang activity. Her daughter made it very clear that The Shadow saved her from it.”

“I don’t know. He’s already tied pretty heavily to this city’s gangs. Who’s to say he’s not just some ploy they’re using to throw the cops off their trail?”

“Why would they go through all that trouble? They’re bringing attention to themselves through this. It’s harming them.”

“Well, _maybe_ they’re taking away the attention from something else," Sam argued. "Something bigger.”

“You’ve been watching too much _NCIS.”_

“Oh, shut up.”

Sam did make a good point. Lance realized that. But something in him opposed the thought. Call him naive, but there was just something fantastical about the whole superhero thing. It sounded a whole lot nicer than "secret gang member", that was for sure.

Besides, the guy saved a little girl. That won, like, a thousand points in Lance's moral scope.

Debating all of this information throughout the morning really took its toll on Lance's nerves. He couldn't even focus, just bouncing his leg as he thought about The Shadow and waited for the inevitable meeting- a meeting that he just _knew_ would be the deciding factor for a change of his entire future.

When eleven came around, Lance was too wound up to notice. Nyma stopped at his desk, giving his shoulder a little shove.

"Come on, Lance. Let's go."

"Right. Sorry," Lance spoke as he got up, putting away his things.

Nyma tilted her head to the side. "You okay?" she asked, voice sounding concerned. "You've been quiet, today."

Lance tried to give her a smile. "I'm good."

"You sure? Because I'm wearing a new dress and you haven't given me one of your famous McClain compliments. I feel empty. Unsatisfied. Lost, if you will."

Lance snorted as they started to walk off. "Looking good, Nyma."

"Well it's no use now," she teased, bumping her shoulder with his. "Really, though, you sure you're okay?"

Lance smiled, and this time it was genuine. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just didn't sleep much."

"Well maybe you'll get the chance with this meeting. You can use my shoulder as a pillow as long as you don't drool on it."

"Your kindness knows no bounds."

"Thanks! It's one of my best qualities."

When they got to the conference room, Lance took a seat close to the front, much to Nyma's chagrin. She sat with him, though, talking with him until Iverson walked into the room at a brisk pace, swinging the door shut behind him and standing at the head of the table, slamming his hands down on the dark wood of it with a  _bang!_ It gathered everyone's undivided attention as a still silence fell over the room- something Iverson's presence tended to bring about.

"I'm sure many of you are wondering why I've called this meeting, today," he spoke, dark eyes intense as they drank in every person in the room. "I've got a special assignment- a big opportunity. And I need my best reporters to step up," he spoke as he stood tall, arms crossed. He took a dramatic pause before continuing.

"I'm sure you've all heard about The Shadow. He's been all over the news- some Crazy who's been going around beating up bad guys and saving the day- the whole Marvel shtick. For those of you who live under a rock, it's been confirmed that he found and saved the mayor's daughter just last night. Now the press is all over this story, scrambling to get the first inside scoop on our new hero. So I'm going to be assigning a few jobs.

"First things first, Mayor Bowen is going to be holding a press conference at City Hall this Thursday. I need one person to go."

Hands shot up immediately, and chaotic conversation rose until no one voice was discernible. Lance remained in his seat, waiting.

There was something else. He wanted to know what the other job was. Iverson was holding it back.

"Reynolds, you go," Iverson finally decided, sending the room into a mixture of noisy complaints and sighs of frustration as Flo smiled in a cocky manner. 

"Won't let you down, sir."

"If you like your job you better not," Iverson retorted. "This next one is a bit... unhinged. It's a high risk factor, and the contents of this topic cannot leave this room if you don't want your ass fired and sent to hell so fast you won't have time to say 'shit'."

Iverson was always an intense one, Lance noted. 

"I need someone to do some intense work in the uncovering of The Shadow. This job is incredibly dangerous, and would be done in your own personal time. The objective is to be the first to put a face to the hero," Iverson spoke, and he leaned back onto the table, his palms flat on it as he looked over his reporters. "Any takers?"

Lance's hand shot up lightning fast, which he realized was unnecessary, since nobody else in the room even stirred. Iverson blinked, taking in Lance's hand as a confused look washed over his face.

"McClain? You have a question?"

Lance stalled for a second as he gathered himself, and he lowered his hand, shaking his head. "No- no, I meant I wanna do it. I can do it, sir."

A murmur filled the air. A few snickers made themselves evident. Even Iverson looked amused.

"Look, thanks for the offer, but if we need a piece on The Shadow's love for soft kittens I'll be sure to give you a call."

The laughs were less concealed now, and Lance felt his face heat up. Whether it was from anger or embarrassment, or a mixture of the two, he didn't know. Nyma put a comforting hand on his arm but Lance yanked himself away, standing up.

"I'm the man for the job," he insisted.

"Are you, now?"

"Yes. You'd know that if you took one second to give me a fucking shot," Lance spoke, voice raising as he tried to conceal the angry quiver in it.

A hush fell over the room, and Iverson looked at him with wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe Lance had even the littlest bit of a spine. Or as if he wanted to crush Lance under the toe of his fancy designer shoes.

Probably more of the second one.

"Sir," Lance added as an afterthought, but he kept his gaze leveled with Iverson.

"Sit down, McClain," Iverson spoke coolly.

"No offense, but I won't. If you want this job done right, you'll give it to me. I can prove it if you're willing to give me the chance to. And, to be fair, it doesn't look like you've got any other takers."

Iverson contemplated Lance for a good ten seconds. It was an awkward stare-down between the both of them, but the fact that Lance wasn't currently packing his things and leaving with his tail between his legs was a good sign. His hopes were raised, and he held his breath when Iverson opened his mouth to speak.

"You've got the job," he spoke, his voice a rough monotone. Lance let out the air from his lungs with a smile as he glanced at Nyma, who was also smiling brightly- a hand going to his arm.

"Thank you Mr. Iver-"

"Two days," Iverson interrupted. 

Lance's blood ran cold, and he blinked in shock.

"What?" he gasped.

"Two days. That's how long you've got for this assignment. If you don't come up with something good in that timeframe, then I want your ass out of the Daily Journal. Capiche?"

Lance sagged, his eyes looking down at the table as he processed this information. Something tugged at his heart, and his resolve suddenly hardened. He looked back up at Iverson, whose eyes glinted with a challenge. Lance supposed his did, as well.

"Deal."

* * *

“Lance, you’re off your rocker. You’re actually losing it.”

“Might I remind you, Hunk,” Lance spoke as he leaned onto the counter of the cafe, his elbow knocking into a tip jar, “it was _you_ who gave me that whole emotional spiel about how it was time for me to go chase my dreams.”

“Well, excuse me for not realizing your dreams included staking out murder-hungry gangs for the latest scoop.”

“You’re excused.”

_“Lance--”_

Somebody cleared their throat, and both Lance and Hunk straightened up, remembering where they were. Lance moved out of the way so the customer behind him could make their order. Hunk handed Lance his coffee, then pointed a finger at him.

“Don’t think we’re done with this conversation. You’re not allowed to leave until we’ve talked properly about this.”

“Alright, big guy, but I’ve got fifteen minutes left of my break so let’s see what comes first.”

He’d never seen Hunk take an order so fast, before. When Shay came into the cafe with a bag of ingredients they needed, she took over the counter for Hunk.

He sat at Lance’s table where he had been working out his plan for tomorrow night.

“Alright, listen--”

“Save it, Hunk. I’m going. I have to.”

“No! No, you really don’t!”

Lance winced at that, remembering what Iverson said. Hunk gave him a look at that as he seemed to brace himself.

“Actually… I really do have to. If I don’t get this article I’m… well--”

Hunk’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. Oh, geez, Lance, what’d you do?”

“I may or may not have been… very _insistent_ on being the right one for the job.”

“Oh, god.”

“So if I don’t pull through… then I don’t really technically _have_ a job, anymore.”

Hunk had his face buried in his palm, and he ran it down in an exhausted manner. “Lance, _what_ have you gotten yourself into?”

“Well, we don’t have to worry. Because I’m _going_ to get that scoop. Then I’ll be promoted, become a rich and famous journalist, and live happily ever after.”

“If you don’t get wiped off the face of the Earth by some shady gang member.”

“That’s the spirit!” Lance exclaimed with a grin.

Hunk buried his face in his palms, again. “I swear you’re giving me grey hairs. Being friends with you has probably shaved a clean ten years off my life.”

“And added a good ten years to mine,” Lance replied with a smirk. Hunk couldn’t help but smile at that. He leaned forward, then, all serious business.

“Alright. Ground rules.”

Lance sighed but nodded, waving a hand in a dismissively accepting gesture.

“Shoot.”

“Keep your GPS tracker on, and make sure to keep it open to me so I can see where you are at all times.”

“Fine.”

“Send me a text every ten minutes. If you haven’t, then I’m sending the cops to whichever location you’re at.”

“Okay.”

“Take Shay’s pepper spray--”

“She won’t need it?”

“She has the muscles of a war goddess, and mine for backup,” Hunk retorted. Lance let out a hum in agreement, looking down at his own noodle arms before looking at Hunk’s ripped biceps, and nodded in appreciation.

“Noted.”

Hunk looked nervous- like he was about to barf. He shook his head, his thick eyebrows scrunched together in distress as his eyes filled with panic.

“Lance, I don’t know, I really think I should come with you--”

Lance reached forward and put a reassuring hand on Hunk’s arm.

“Buddy, trust me. I’ve _got this._ I’ll be really careful, I promise.”

Hunk worried at his lower lip, searching Lance’s eyes for a moment before he nodded.

“Alright. Okay. I know, this is something you wanna do on your own… I just wish you wouldn’t.”

Lance gave an easy smile, then. “Don’t worry, Hunk. What’s the worst that can happen?”

* * *

The next day, at exactly nine o'clock at night, Lance was stood in front of a mirror trying to gather his nerves. He checked over his reflection, looking at himself as his heart hammered in his chest.

_You’ve got this, McClain._

He took a deep breath, running a sweaty palm down his chest.

He had his pepper spray, his cell phone, and his Dictaphone- a gift from his Mamá when he got his job at the Daily Journal. He wouldn’t need his wallet- just his subway card and a few bucks.

Donned in a dark blue hoodie and some jeans, Lance felt as though he looked inconspicuous enough.

All he needed to do was find The Shadow. To do that, he needed to go to downtown, then to East Side. It was filled with all sorts criminal activity, and happened to be where the most encounters of the vigilante had occurred. Lance had conducted interviews all day on those who claimed to have seen The Shadow. Most of them had been crazies who wanted to be featured in Lance's article, but some encounters added up, and Lance was able to triangulate a location and make up a sort of pattern as to where the mysterious vigilante had shown up the most.

He a very slight idea of where to look. Slight being a _big_ word, here.

But it was all he had. He was on his last day, and Iverson would be expecting an article come morning. This was what all of Lance’s training and hard work had led up to.

He was ready.

Giving himself a nod, and straightening his posture, Lance went out the door. He texted Hunk on his way down the stairs:

_Heading out._

As he reached the first floor of his apartment, a reply came.

_Be careful._

Lance set a vibrating timer for ten minutes, pocketed his phone, and walked out the door.

The night air was cold, and it bit at Lance’s exposed skin. He shivered as he made the fifteen minute walk to the closest subway station. He went down the stairs to the tracks, and swiped his card to get to the East Train.

The night crowd was light, seeing as it was the end of the day, and a Wednesday night. Lance found a seat at the back of the tram, and waited.

His phone buzzed with his third alarm of the night, and he sighed before sending Hunk an “I’m alive” text, along with his location.

The ride was thirty minutes long, and eventually Lance was at his stop. He got out, steeled his nerves, and made his way out of the subway and into town, keeping his hands stuffed in his pockets, holding on tight to his pepper spray.

The streets were almost empty save for a few people slipping in and out of buildings. Lance could hear a mixture of his footsteps on wet gravel, the echoey sound of people arguing in different buildings, a far off car alarm piercing the still night, his own breathing, and his heartbeat, which pounded loud in his ears.

When he reached a local bar, he quickly slid in and made his way to the counter. It was fairly busy and filled with life, unlike the abandoned streets just outside. Lance sat down, caught the bartender’s attention, and ordered a shot of vodka and a beer to calm his nerves.

After he downed the shot and chased it with a swig, he chided himself.

“Way to go, McClain. Barely into this and you’re already chickening out.”

He nursed his beer as he looked around, inspecting the array of people who filled the room. They were mostly average people. Nobody in particular stood out to him in the dark lighting of the bar.

That was when he saw them- two men sitting in a corner booth talking in hushed voices. Their faces were grim, one of them had thick black hair and a goatee- his eyes an ice blue. He was missing two fingers on his right hand. The other guy was strikingly pallor, his hair thin and blond. A ragged scar ran down across his cheek to his mouth, deforming his upper lip just slightly. They were both dressed to the top in leather, something that made Lance feel a lot less scared of them as he snorted into his bottle.

But the uncomfortable-looking leather wasn’t what caught Lance’s attention.

It was the flash of purple on their necks- the tattoos in the shape of forward slashes. The guy on the left had two, and the one on the right had three.

Lance didn’t know what it meant, but he knew the Galra gang’s color was purple. Nobody in this bar dared to don those colors- he didn’t see any variation of the color anywhere except on those tattoos, so his assumption had to be correct.

It was all he had.

Lance slowly drank as he tried to nonchalantly keep an eye on the two, subtly checking in on them every now and then.

If they went anywhere, they’d be his ticket to finding The Shadow. This was the primary gang the vigilante had been hitting, according to Lance's research.

It took nearly an hour, but eventually the two got up and left. Lance gave it a moment before he settled his tab and walked out to follow them.

The alcohol, which had calmed his nerves before, seemed to completely leave his system, now. He sobered up quickly as his heart hammered in his chest, his fingers shaking. As he followed the two men he could almost hear his Mamá’s voice berating him in his ear, screeching about how dangerous this all was and how he'd better get his skinny butt back to his apartment and start job searching.

Lance knew that he couldn't do that. He could never do that. Turning back now would eat him alive the rest of his life.

He had no idea where he was going, and at this point he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, because he’d probably lose what little nerve he had to keep his feet moving. So he walked, keeping himself hidden and off to the side as he followed the two men’s trail.

Eventually, he heard the gentle lapping of water and smelled the ocean in the air.

They were at the docks.

Lance kneeled behind some crates as he poked his head from behind them, watching the men walk past the port and to a loading dock. They opened the second door, and inside Lance could see a dim light before the door closed behind them, opened only a crack.

Lance texted Hunk his location, turned on his Dictaphone, then turned on his cell phone’s voice recorder for back-up.

He made his way to the door slowly, looking around him for other people before crouching in front of it. He peeked through the crack in the door, and was greeted with the sight of a group of men standing together. The two men he had followed handed something to one of the members- a guy with a buzzcut and an embarrassingly bad eye patch.

“This it?” he asked, sounding pissed off.

Lance couldn’t catch everything they were saying. He leaned in closer to listen.

“He has one… the rest… to pay up. Made sure he....”

Looking around him one more time, Lance reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone, snapping a few photos of the men for evidence before sliding it back into his pocket. He took out his Dictaphone and brought it close to the door.

“--Wednesday, fifth ave. The big guy wants us… throw Shadow off our trail.”

Lance’s eyes widened, and he strained his ears to try and catch what they were saying.

“--serious damage. What are we gonna do about it?” one of the guys Lance had followed, Goatee, spoke up.

“We’ve got our people on it. Shadow… not gonna survive our next encounter.”

Before he could hear anything more, a hand grasped Lance’s hood, tugging him back sharply and without warning. Lance let out a startled gasp as he was yanked harshly to his feet.

He instinctively kicked back hard, and made contact with something that brought a pained groan to his ears and a loud thump to the ground. Quickly, Lance turned to the right, ready to high tail it out of there before a second body blocked his way, grabbing his arms and sending a knee to his gut when he tried to pull away.

Lance doubled over, the wind knocked out of him, and he wheezed as he tried to catch his breath.

His Dictaphone was yanked harshly from his hands, and Lance let out a noise of protest. He was then pulled to his feet and led, dazed and disoriented, through the dock doors. He shouted and resisted, trying to squirm out of the grasp on his neck and arm before it tightened threateningly, effectively shutting him up. When he caught sight of Eyepatch and his group, Lance was shoved to the floor where he landed harshly, scraping his palms.

“What the fuck is this?” Eyepatch spoke up, sounding bewildered.

“Found him lurking by the doors,” the guy to Lance’s right spoke up. “Had this with him.”

Lance looked up in panic and saw his recorder get handed over to Eyepatch. He held it in his hand, inspecting it.

“You’re a little old-school, aren’t you?” he asked Lance, amusement in his voice.

Lance didn’t reply. He set his mouth into a straight line to stop it from quivering, and gave Eyepatch a glare. This seemed to piss him off.

“Who the fuck are you, then? You work for the cops?” Eyepatch asked, waving the recorder around. When Lance didn’t reply, he dropped it to the ground and smashed it with the heel of his boot. Lance caught his protests in his throat, making a move forward before a hand yanked him back.

“Don't make me ask again, kid,” Eyepatch spoke, kneeling in front of Lance. “Who. The fuck. Are you?”

When Lance still didn’t answer, he was met with a fist to his cheek and a sharp pain that surged through his face. He was sent down with the force of the blow, and before he had the chance to get up Eyepatch kicked him in the side hard enough that Lance heard a crack. He let out a raw cry.

Eyepatch’s goons yanked Lance back up, sending a sharp pain through his chest and jostling his broken rib. He panted as he tried to catch his breath.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck--_

“How did you find us? Huh?”

Lance met Eyepatch’s eye and jerked his head towards the two guys from the bar. “Why don’t you ask those two morons over there?”

Eyepatch whirled to look at the two men, and his gaze was filled with fire. “What the _fuck_ did you do?”

The two men looked bewildered, their mouths gaping as they searched for an explanation.

 _“Well?!”_ Eyepatch insisted. Lance could see veins bulging in his neck.

Suddenly, Goatee came to a realization. His eyes widened, and he spoke up.

“The guy from the bar. He must have followed us.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

“You let a _kid_ follow you? Are you both fucking  _morons?"_

The guy with a scar on his face spoke up. Lance felt his stomach sink to his toes as he realized the depth of the situation he was in- the panic clear on the two men's faces.

"We didn't see him," Scarface insisted, "we didn't know--"

He didn't get a chance to finish. Eyepatch looked away, his face twisted in disgust as he gestured at the men by his side.

Suddenly, Goatee and Scarface were forcefully dragged away, their protests ringing loud throughout the loading dock. Lance resisted once more, and was met with a foot to the back, courtesy of the goon to his right. He fell face-first to the floor before peeling himself off it and looking up with wide eyes, searching for an escape--

Eyepatch kneeled in front of him once more.

"Who do you work for? Huh? Who sent you here?"

Lance leveled his gaze with Eyepatch. His blood was pounding in his ears, and his limbs shook with anxiety and adrenaline.

His ten minutes would be up, soon. Hunk would call the police. Everything would be okay.

Lance had to distract him.

"Nobody," he spoke, voice low and careful. "Nobody sent me."

He was given another kick to his gut, sending him down.

 _"Bullshit!"_  Eyepatch shouted before kicking Lance again, his boot smashing against his ribs. Lance choked on his cry. Eyepatch grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him eye-to-eye before he shook him.

_“Who do you work for?!"_

Before Lance could say anything, two men behind Eyepatch dropped to the ground with loud a loud  _thump!_ Eyepatch whirled around, his eye wide as he took in the unconscious bodies of his men.

The rest happened so fast it was a blur.

A flicker of something- a shadow and a commotion of hits and punches, shouts and grunts of effort, then another man was down.

Despite the chaos around him, Lance was struck with a clear thought.

_The Shadow._

He quickly fumbled through his pockets, pulling out his phone and taking a concealed photo (not that Eyepatch or his men were paying any mind to him now of all times) of the blur that fought with the remaining men who stood before them. He didn't even know if he captured anything, but he stuffed his phone back in his pocket and looked around for something-  _anything._

A crowbar sat four feet to his left against a box. Lance glanced at his captors, his heart racing with adrenaline before he reached into his pocket, grabbing his pepper spray.

He got to his feet, scrambling past the guard to his left and spraying him in the eyes as he jumped for the weapon. The anguished cry of the sprayed guard was muffled beneath the ringing in Lance's ears.

The moment his hands touched metal, a hand grabbed his arm.

Lance whirled to meet the man who had captured him, and he whacked him on the side of the head with the crowbar, sending him down. The second guy that had dragged him in was on Lance in an instant, eyes red and tear-filled. His teeth were bared with anger, and he let out a yell as he grabbed at the crowbar. He successfully held it, yanking Lance back towards Eyepatch. Instinctively, Lance kicked at the man's groin and yanked his crowbar free before smacking it at his second captor, sending him down, as well.

Oh, if Hunk could see him now. He would never make fun of Lance's noodle arms, again.

Eyepatch seemed like he didn't know whether to react to Lance or to his men, who were becoming fewer and fewer in numbers. He quickly reached in his pocket, and before he could even draw out his gun the two men on either side of Eyepatch fell to the floor. The lights were so dim that Lance couldn't capture the face of The Shadow- could only see a streak of black and red as he drew closer.

So quick Lance didn't have time to retreat, Eyepatch grabbed Lance's arm and held the gun to his head.

"Drop it," he growled in Lance's ear. 

Lance did as he was told, hands dropping the crowbar to the ground as he raised them up in defeat, his arms shaking in fear.

Holy fuck. He was going to die. This was the end.

Lance didn't dare to try and resist as he was led steadily away- until their backs pressed against a cold wall. The hard metal of the barrel of a gun pressed firmer into Lance's temple as Eyepatch looked around them in a frantic, deranged manner.

"Show yourself!" he shouted into the air, making Lance flinch. "You've got five seconds!"

No movement.

"Four!"

Lance really,  _really_ didn't want to die.

"Three!"

He sucked in a shaky breath, his legs nearly collapsing with fear.

"Two!"

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"One!"

The shot never came. Eyepatch's tight grasp fell from Lance's arm, and a thud sounded beside him.

Eyepatch was collapsed on the ground, a dart in his neck.

Lance wobbled away from the unconscious man, taking a few quick steps back before he collapsed, falling to his knees as adrenaline left his veins. His arm gripped at the screaming pain of his ribs, and he released a quivering exhale.

Footsteps sounded in front of him, and Lance whipped to face the figure standing before him.

His breath caught in his throat.

__

He was dressed in black accented with a striking red. His eyes- a color so deep they looked indigo- were framed with a red mask, and a wild mess of dark hair stuck to his sweaty face, falling over his eyes. A hood was drawn over his head, concealing most of his features, but the light from the docks lit what Lance could see with an eerily soft glow.

Blood- bright red and shimmering- sat on his lips, smeared down his chin and across his jaw. So much red.

Red....

He was looking at Lance.

Lance, for once in his life, didn't know what to say. He just stared with wide eyes, frozen under the man's gaze.

To his complete and utter shock, The Shadow spoke to him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, and his voice was deep and smooth, but surprisingly young. Lance shivered at it, finding himself overwhelmed as he scrambled to find words- to work his lungs and throat and lips into speaking.

"I'm fine," he replied, and his voice was hoarse and felt heavy on his tongue. 

The vigilante seemed to hesitate, looking around him before looking back at Lance. His eyes were troubled, as if he were struggling with something- with the instinct to run and leave Lance behind.

He stepped forward, and Lance shrunk away, though his eyes never left The Shadow's face.

A hand reached out to him- covered in a black glove.

Lance blinked at it before looking back up into those intense eyes, which seemed determined, now.

He looked back at the hand and took it.

The Shadow lifted him to his feet fairly easily, and Lance wobbled before being steadied by a hand to his back. Once he regained his balance, he withdrew from the vigilante who then ushered them out of the loading dock and into the night. They were well away from the port when they stopped.

"Your phone," The Shadow spoke.

Lance's eyebrows screwed together in confusion. "Huh?"

A small smile graced The Shadow's face. "It's going off," he added.

Lance's eyes widened, and he fumbled through his pocket while murmuring "Shit, shit, shit, shit,--"

He'd gotten five texts from Hunk within the past thirty seconds, all of him freaking out. He replied to them with a quick "I'm alive, explain in a sec" before looking back to the man next to him.

"You should go to a hospital," The Shadow insisted, "or go home and get some rest. I suggest you don't tell anyone about what you've been doing unless you want The Galra after your neck."

Lance fumbled for words, finding himself speechless. So he nodded, grasping his phone so tight his knuckles went white.

The Shadow eyed him carefully before pointing to their left. "The nearest subway is four blocks down that way. You need to hurry- their last train is in thirty minutes."

Lance felt panic shoot through him, and he opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't worry. I'll keep watch," The Shadow assured him. He made a move to leave, and before Lance knew what he was doing he grabbed his hand.

The Shadow stilled, looking at Lance. Swallowing hard, Lance spoke up.

"Thank you," he babbled. "For... for saving me back there."

At that, The Shadow smiled softly, again. "It's nothing. Just... don't do anything like that, again. These guys... you mess with them, and they'll kill you."

Lance nodded, a flush of shame creeping up his cheeks. The Shadow spoke up again, a teasing smirk on his face.

"I mean, you were pretty good with that crowbar, but I wouldn't bet your life on it."

Before Lance could reply- or even think to- the vigilante was off. He slipped out of Lance's grasp and melted into the shadows- leaving no trace behind, as if he'd never been there in the first place. The only evidence was the tingling of Lance's hand where the pressure of The Shadow's had once been, and the soft tone of a gentle voice still echoing in his ears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy heck you guys! Thanks so much for all the reviews! Honestly, it's what got this chapter up so fast. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude <3 I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It was so fun to write :-)

It turned out Hunk had situated himself only a few blocks over from where Lance had been, just to be safe. Despite all the events of the night, and the obvious realization that Lance was in way over his head, he had it within himself to feel insulted. The feeling was quickly overtaken by the overwhelming thanks that he felt blooming in his chest at the sight of his best friend at the subway station, where he scooped Lance into a tight hug (“Ouch, Hunk, my rib--”) and offered him a ride back home.

After Hunk’s insistence, they stopped by an urgent care, first. Lance reluctantly got himself seen to, and endured a long lecture from Hunk the entire time they were sat in the waiting room. Luckily for Lance, he had no internal bleeding or anything major that would need extra seeing to by any specialist. Just a broken rib that would heal fine on its own with time, and a nasty bruise on his cheek to match the other ugly purple splotches all over his torso.

When they were done getting Lance checked up, and had picked up some painkillers from the nearest pharmacy, it was three in the morning. Hunk took the both of them to Lance’s apartment.

The moment they walked in through the door, Lance beelined to his kitchen where he proceeded to reach into his cupboard and pull out a half-empty bottle of rum. Hunk frowned at him disapprovingly, but didn’t say anything as Lance poured himself a glass with shaking hands. Lance raised a brow at him.

“Want some?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine. I have to drive.”

Lance paused at that, a sudden panic seizing him at the thought of being left alone. He schooled his face into a neutral expression and gave a nod. Then he let himself smile.

“Yeah, right. Sure.”

Hunk seemed to read his mind, though. Lance knew he couldn't hide anything from him. They'd been best friends for twenty years. There were no secrets between them- they knew each other's lying faces so well, that there was really no opportunity to keep secrets.

Looking contemplative, Hunk pulled out his phone and glanced at the time.

“Well, y’know, it’s so late… is it alright if I crash here?”

Lance straightened up, and his heart felt a million times lighter.

“Yeah! For sure, man. We can share my bed.”

“Aw,” Hunk crooned, “it’ll be like college all over, again.”

“I call little spoon,” Lance spoke up as Hunk made his way to the bathroom.

“Always, buddy.”

Smiling to himself, Lance downed his drink in one gulp, taking a moment to brace himself against the burn of it. He poured himself another glass and capped the bottle before walking out of the kitchen and to his couch.

Placing his drink on the table beside him, Lance gingerly shed himself of his jacket, tossing it aside.

His phone fell out of it, clattering to the floor.

Lance blinked, realization dawning over him. He fumbled for his phone, picking it up and quickly unlocking it.

The voice recorder was still on.

Lance ended it and saved the file before sorting through his photos.

They were dark and blurry, but there was some vague figures he could barely decipher. He’d need to enhance them….

“Ready for bed?” Hunk asked, making Lance jump.

“Oh- yeah. Uh, I just need to write something really quick,” Lance explained, and when Hunk gave him a look he waved him off. “It’ll only take a second. I promise. You can go ahead and sleep.”

“Alright, man. Don’t stay up too late,” Hunk replied before stifling a yawn and making his way to Lance’s room.

“I won’t,” Lance murmured after him before standing up and grabbing his messenger bag from where it was sat next to the T.V. He pulled out his laptop and opened it, then grabbed his phone cable and plugged it into the computer. As his computer connected to his phone, Lance rummaged through his bag until he found his earbuds, and pulled them out.

Lance picked up his drink and put in his headphones as his computer loaded, transferring the photos and voice recording from his phone safely to his computer. Lance took a sip from his glass before putting it down and opening up his photo editing software.

He observed the photos he had taken.

There were two photos of Eyepatch and his crew, and an accidental burst photo of The Shadow.

Lance leaned forward, going through the gang photos. It was lit well enough- a little too well, as you could see their faces. He wasn’t sure it was the best thing to put in his article. Really, it seemed like something he should hand over to the police.

He hid the photos in a folder, put a security passcode on it, and looked at the burst photo, going through each frame.

They were all incredibly dark- blurry shades of black movement. Lance enhanced the brightness and sharpened the resolution the best he could.

He paused.

One of the photos caught The Shadow in a squat, poised for attack and facing the camera.

He could see his face- masked and covered partially by his hood and messy mane of hair, but there it was nonetheless.

Lance gazed at it for a moment before moving the photo to the locked folder, and going through the rest.

Most weren’t usable. He trashed some of them, and gazed at the last one that his conscience felt guilt-less enough to use.

A side view photo, showing mostly just The Shadow’s outfit as he roundhouse kicked a guy in the face.

Lance smiled.

It was perfect.

He pulled open a new document, and started to write.

* * *

When Lance finished, it was seven in the morning. He looked over his work, reading and rereading until he was sure it was publishable- something that Iverson would accept, but something that protected The Shadow's identity to the best of his ability.

Lance had gotten mixed into some bad shit. Luckily, Eyepatch hadn’t gathered any information on him. But he’d seen Lance’s face.

He hadn’t meant for it to get that far. He’d only meant to catch sight of The Shadow in action- to get some pictures then get the hell out of there. Instead, Lance had nearly gotten killed.

If The Shadow hadn’t been there, he didn’t know what he’d have done.

He’d probably be rotting away at the bottom of the ocean.

A shiver traveled throughout Lance, and his breath caught in his lungs with panic. He put a hand over his pounding heart, clutching at his t-shirt.

_Calm down, Lance. You’re alive. You’re a dumbass, but you’re alive._

Lance wheezed in a breath- felt the sting of tears behind his eyes.

What if he’d died? What if he was still in danger?

Had The Shadow killed those men last night? Or were they alive and angry: searching for Lance so they could finish the job?

Swallowing hard, Lance ran his fingers lightly over his ribs. His entire body ached, and the pain was starting to pulse throughout him. His sleep deprivation had numbed the pain somewhat, but now his panic had sent it back into full force. He’d need to take his medication, soon.

But first….

Lance took a few calming breaths then got up, putting his laptop away. He stretched to the best of his ability- wincing at the pain that shot up his side.

He really should be resting. But he _really_ wanted to stick this article in Iverson’s face in person.

Lance walked into his bedroom and plopped himself onto the bed with enough force to wake up Hunk, who groaned sleepily before squinting at Lance in an accusing manner. Lance gave him a big grin.

 _“Hey,_ buddy. Wanna give me a ride to work?”

* * *

 _“Lance._ What the fuck happened to you?” Nyma gasped as she jumped from her chair and rushed over to him, reaching out to the bruise on his cheek. Lance smiled sheepishly before dodging away from the touch.

“I’m fine. You should see the other guy. Is Iverson in?”

Worry creased Nyma’s brow, and a question seemed to wait on her lips, but she bit it back and nodded. “He’s in his office.”

Lance thanked her before making his way across the building to Iverson’s room. When he got there he knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Bracing himself, and taking the deepest breath he could before his rib stabbed his lung, Lance opened the door and walked in.

Iverson looked up from his computer disinterestedly before his eyes widened and he sat up straight, his mouth falling open.

“Christ, McClain, what the hell happened to you?”

Lance opened his laptop and made his way over to Iverson’s desk, dropping it onto the desk in front of him.

“I’ve got the article. And photographic evidence.”

Iverson looked from the laptop, up to Lance’s face, then back at it again. He seemed to snap back to reality and leaned forward, scrolling through Lance’s article.

It took him a couple minutes to read through, and the whole while Lance stood there, hands clenched at his sides as he tried to reign in his panic.

When Iverson finished, he appeared to be at a loss for words. Finally, he looked up at Lance, seeming to really see him for the first time.

“What the hell did you get yourself into?” he breathed out.

Lance spoke up, then.

“I need the article published anonymously with a note saying it was sent to the Daily Journal by an unknown person. My name can’t be connected to this. And you’re probably gonna want to put as much distance as possible between this company and the source of this article.”

Iverson nodded slowly. “Yes… of course.”

Lance nodded stiffly, letting out a shaky breath from where it had been held in his lungs. He felt his body relax. “Alright, then. I’ll send it to you.” He gave a nod before grabbing his laptop and turning around to leave.

“McClain, wait.”

Lance swiveled to look back at his boss. Iverson looked like he was trying to gather his words.

“Did you really see him?” Iverson asked. “The Shadow?”

Lance nodded. “Yeah. I did. He’s the reason I’m standing here.”

It was silent. There seemed to be something more Iverson wanted to say, but he remained there- mouth opening and closing. Lance eventually gave him a nod.

“Now,” he spoke up, “I need to go home and get some rest because I’m on so many pain meds that your face looks like a talking yam. See you tomorrow, sir.”

He hightailed it out of the office, leaving a speechless Iverson behind.

* * *

Her long white hair was tied into a tight braid that was wrapped in a coil at the base of her neck. Brown and slender fingers grasped onto the ledge of the building she was squatted on, her nails painted a sparkly purple. Her sharp blue eyes examined the scene before them.

“You owe me big time for this,” she spoke, sending a sideways glare at Keith.

“I’ll cover you on ten training nights,” Keith murmured, eyes going from the scene before him back to Allura’s. She squinted, unconvinced. The pink mask around her eyes matched the whirlwind of galaxy-like colors in her irises- a sea of stars in blue. Keith almost found himself sucked into the hypnotic trance before he snapped out of it, giving her a glare for the trick. She always enjoyed testing her powers on other Supers- wanted to see how strong her abilities could be. Allura smirked before she spoke up.

“Fifteen.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

They continued to watch Sendak, one of the Galra’s big bosses. He was speaking in an animated manner to one of his henchmen who was carrying a large box in his beefy and scarred arms. Sendak pointed at the box then at the other men, snapped angrily, and shoved the goon on his way. There were loads of other boxes, and member upon member carried them into the abandoned warehouse that Keith and Allura were currently staking out.

“They don’t usually meet in daylight,” Keith murmured, mostly to himself.

Allura hummed in contemplation. “Yes. Your boyfriend must have really pissed them off.”

Keith prickled, a scowl on his lips, but he didn’t reply. He watched as Sendak looked around with his one good eye before following the last of his men into the warehouse.

“Let’s go,” Keith spoke, pulling up his hood. Allura did the same, concealing herself with the heavy black material before standing. Keith quickly left his post on the roof of the neighboring building and made his way to the warehouse, jumping from rooftop to rooftop- his feet barely emitting a single scuffle. Allura followed close behind him even quieter, but Keith could feel her powers like a static in the air- a constant yet frightening reassurance.

When they reached the warehouse, they crouched by a skylight.

All the members were gathered together, unloading boxes and listening as Sendak shouted orders at them.

“Is this all of them?” Allura spoke, voice low and eyes carrying a passive anger within them. Her expression always went blank when she was gathering her powers. Keith suppressed a shiver.

He looked out, counting the number of men, then scanning over their faces. He flitted through his memory, matching the faces to the men.

“Yes.”

Allura smiled- it was cold and didn’t touch her eyes. She reached out her arm in invitation. “Let’s go then, Shadow.”

Keith sighed, bracing himself before linking their arms and taking Allura’s hand in his own. He tensed as a tingling overcame him- as if a billion ants were crawling under his skin on every square inch of his body.

They phased through the window- Allura in a catatonic state throughout the process. Her eyes were blank- encompassed with a bright blue-white glow. Their bodies were mere holographic images- beyond the sight of human eyes. Like a translucent ghost, they weighed almost nothing- their atoms arranging and rearranging, filling them with space yet remaining somehow composed enough in structure to leave them alive. Keith guided them as they descended, landing them behind some crates and away from the gang’s eyes. The moment their feet (or what little comprised of them) touched the ground, their basic physical forms returned. Keith felt dizzy, and he readied himself for when Allura inevitably collapsed against him. He caught her, supporting her head. He was used to the routine, and was already reaching in the pocket of his utility belt for a piece of chocolate.

It took a moment to gather herself, but a couple minutes later Allura breathed in a little gasp. She was drained of color, her eyes underlined with bags, and Keith could feel her shaking. He handed her the chocolate- gently put it in her trembling fingers, wrapping them around it.

Allura ate, sat herself up into a crouch, and breathed. Keith peeked from behind the crates, observing Sendak and his men as he waited for Allura to regain her strength.

When the time was right, Keith gave Allura the signal- tapping one finger twice against his thigh. He could feel her tense as she got ready- could sense her nodding.

Keith slipped from his hiding spot, melting into the shadows around him as he reached into his belt, grabbing his small black darts- no bigger than half an inch.

He threw them at the closest members, emerging and merging back into shadow after shadow as he moved himself about to evade their line of sight. Voices heightened and shouted in confusion as bodies fell with loud thumps and groans. Angry cursing and panicked shouts filled the air as Sendak barked orders at his men, trying to calm their messy actions. Keith had to move fast to match their frantic running and pacing as they tried to find him. They withdrew their guns, aiming them--

A bullet fired and grazed his arm, and Keith hissed- two of his darts missing and landing into the side of a crate. He didn’t stop, though- he only had three men left.

He finally managed to take down Sendak, which left the last two men afraid and dumb. One of them shot his partner in the leg in an attempt to get Keith. The loud echoing of the gunfire melded with the anguished cries of the man as he grabbed his bleeding leg. Keith threw two more darts, and got them both in the neck. They fell to the ground with loud thumps, joining the rest of their team.

Allura emerged from behind the crates. She seemed tired- her figure slouched and her legs shaking. But she stood in the center of the room- tall and powerful. She outstretched her hands, and a dark pink aura filled the room- lighting the air with an alien glow. Keith’s body tensed unwillingly as if he were being suspended, held up firm and straight by the power in the air.

Her eyes were closed, but she opened them, now. They were filled with the same blue-white blaze from before. Tiny shimmering specks of light seemed to float away from her- hovering in the air gently, like fireflies.

“Describe him,” Allura spoke, and her voice echoed in an omnipotent manner, ringing in Keith’s ears.

Keith didn’t have to dig deep in his memory to remember.

“He was young- maybe our age. Tall… thin. Tanned skin, with dark brown hair. He was wearing a blue hoodie... jeans… some old grey sneakers,” Keith described, trying to sound distant. He hesitated before he added, “His eyes were blue- light and dark. A mix.”

He could feel Allura’s amusement, and ignored it. After a moment with her eyes closed in concentration, they opened and she smiled triumphantly. “I’ve found him.”

A pulse of energy shifted through the light in the room. Then the static left the air, and Keith sagged- as if his muscles were his own again. He felt the ability to breathe properly return to him once more.

Allura’s eyes were back to normal. She gave Keith a steady look. “He’s erased from their memories.”

Keith felt the weight that had been over his heart lift. He nodded.

“Thank you, Allura.”

She smiled. “Let’s get out of here.”

They slipped out of the warehouse, leaving Sendak and his crew behind.

* * *

“You know, it would have been a lot easier if you’d just let me see him through your eyes.”

Keith tensed, and hoped Allura didn't notice him doing so. He tried to gather himself as they opened the door to their home, walking through long halls and stopping occasionally to punch in intricate passcodes and scans before making their way to the lounge. It was a wide and welcoming room on the first floor of their home, and one of the few places in it that Keith felt relaxed. There was an array of plush couches, bookshelves, a television, and an open kitchen connecting to the living space. A balconied hallway overlooked the room from the second floor of the building, where the bedrooms were.

Allura was expecting an answer. Keith could feel her looking at him.

She was right, of course. But letting Allura into his memories would give her complete access to have felt what he had felt- think what he had thought. It was a vulnerability Keith would never be comfortable enough with no matter how long they’d known each other. He has never let her into his mind, not once. Allura knew how he felt about the idea, but it didn’t stop her from trying to find any opportunity to shift the tide of his acceptance.

“I know,” he murmured. They passed the kitchen, and Keith dug through the fridge while Allura went into the lounge to collapse onto a plush loveseat. He pulled out two bottled smoothies and brought them with him where he sat on the couch at Allura’s feet, pushing them to the side only to succeed in her moving to rest them on his lap.

He handed her a bottle, and she took it, drinking as she laid down.

It was silent for a moment, but if Keith knew Allura, he knew that wouldn’t last for long.

As if on cue, she spoke up.

“You certainly let him take a beating.”

Keith flinched slightly, remembering the sound of a cracking rib, and the cry that had followed it. The guilt from that still weighed heavily in his chest. He avoided Allura’s eyes, knowing she had seen everything that had happened to the stranger through Sendak's eye.

“He needed to be taught a lesson. He could’ve been killed. People in this city… so many of them don’t seem to realize that.”

“They think themselves immortal,” Allura spoke, propping up her arm to rest it on her forehead as she closed her eyes. “Every single one of them. They think nothing can happen to them. Until it does, that is. Even then they try to find a way to pretend it didn’t.”

Keith ran his thumb over the plastic label of his bottle. He twisted open the lid. “Hopefully he understands that, now.”

Allura hummed. Then her arm went back to her side, and she opened her eyes and moved her gaze to Keith. The power of it burned a hole in the side of Keith’s head- not literally, though they did know someone who was capable of doing that.

“He was cute,” she commented, smiling in a victorious manner when Keith snapped his head to meet her gaze, his eyes wide.

He tried to regain a neutral expression, and shrugged as he looked away, taking a swig of his smoothie. He could feel the tips of his ears warm as he spoke.

“So?”

Allura was silent for a moment, as if taking a second to compose her response.

“It’s the first time you’ve shown your face to one of them. Or spoken.”

Keith didn’t know how to respond to the statement. He really didn’t have a good reason for what he had done. He had no explanation whatsoever. He couldn’t even understand, himself, why he had done it- why he had interacted so openly with a complete stranger. It's not as if he'd ever felt the need to before.

Before him.

It was stupid and reckless, and Keith wished he could take it back. There was no good excuse to do it- he was endangering himself. Not to mention endangering Allura and Shiro and the others. He should have been more careful. Years of keeping this whole thing up, and Keith had been undone by a set of wide blue eyes.

It was idiotic.

Allura shoved at Keith’s shoulder with her foot, trying to gather his attention. He turned to look at her. Her eyes were serious, now, and she made sure she had his attention before she spoke.

“I could remove him from your memory, too. It would be the wise thing to do.”

Keith shook his head maybe a bit too fast.

“No.”

Allura observed him for a moment before relenting. “Very well.”

Keith fiddled with his bottle, feeling restless.

“Once I find him we can wipe his memory. Then all of this will be fixed.”

Allura frowned. “If that’s what you want….”

“It is.”

“Alright,” she relented. “But,” she continued, even over Keith’s exasperated sigh, “you need to know… this job doesn’t mean you can’t live your life. You shouldn’t let it hold you back from being human.”

“We’re _not_ human. Not really,” Keith spoke.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean we can’t learn to be.”

Keith didn’t know what to say to that. So, naturally, Allura carried the conversation on.

“Just because I wear a mask and fight crime doesn’t mean I let it stop me from flirting with a cute stranger,” she teased. “I’ve probably engaged in dozens of very not-Shiro-approved interactions with the people I’ve saved. There’s something these humans find encapsulating about a heroic savior in a mask.”

“Well, I’m not like you,” Keith spoke up.

“Clearly.”

Keith was silent for a moment. Then he spoke up.

“It’s done, and I don’t want to talk about it, anymore. I just need you to promise--”

“Yes, I know, I won’t tell Shiro.”

“Tell Shiro what?” A deep voice spoke from the other end of the room.

Both Allura and Keith jumped to their feet, eyes wide as Shiro walked into the room. He looked angry- a restrained anger that Keith knew from years of experience meant he was in trouble.

“Shiro,” Keith spoke, glancing at a shocked Allura before looking back at him. “I thought you were--”

"There was a change of plans,” Shiro interrupted, walking over to Keith. He looked him over before his eyes strayed to Keith's bicep, where a clear tear in his suit and bloodstain laid. "Is that a bullet wound?"

Keith's fingers flew to it, prodding at the area. "It's already mostly healed."

"How did you get it in the first place?" Shiro snapped.

Keith avoided his eyes, taking to looking at his toes. "It's... a long story."

"Does it maybe have something to do with this?" Shiro asked before he lifted up a hand in a demonstrative manner. Keith looked to it- he was holding something... a folded up newspaper.

Keith froze.

“What happened?” he asked, eyes wide.

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Shiro replied before handing Keith the newspaper. He took it and unfolded it, eyes scanning it quickly.

On the front page was a photo. There was a grainy photograph, but Keith instantly knew what it was of.

Himself. Kicking a blurred out figure.

Keith’s eyes widened before he scanned over the article.

_The Red Shadow, Guardian of Altea._

It was a vague but convincing enough account of when he’d saved that blue-eyed stranger two nights ago. The details had been obscured, and Keith couldn’t help but notice that no major description was given of himself. But the photo, despite the gracious darkening of details, was all the proof the writer needed.

Keith had been exposed.

“Well?” Shiro prodded. Keith swallowed.

“Wow, that guy sure does look like me….”

Allura snorted, and Shiro looked annoyed.

_“Keith.”_

Keith tossed the paper to the side, letting it land on a table. Allura immediately grabbed it.

“I didn’t know he was a reporter.”

Shiro let out a long sigh- pinching the bride of his scarred nose. It took him a moment before he composed himself and looked at Keith.

“No contact. That is _all_ I ask of you. It’s the difference between life and death out there--”

“I know,” Keith murmured, feeling shame crawl up his neck. “I’m sorry.”

Shiro paused at that, and a soft look flicked over his face. He took a deep breath.

“Tell me what happened. All of it.”

So Keith did. They sat down- Keith and Allura on the couch, and Shiro in an arm chair as he leaned forward onto his knees- the hand of his robotic arm clenched tight, and his human one resting over his mouth, seeming to physically stop him from interrupting. When Keith finished talking, ending with the mission he and Allura just came back from, Shiro shook his head.

“You’re lucky he didn’t expose more about you. He easily could have,” Shiro murmured, seeming to try and see the bright side of things. “It seems he was holding back. For what reason, though, I have no idea.”

Keith nodded. The guy really hadn’t said much about Keith’s physical appearance- just mentioned the red in his suit, a detail that hadn’t gone out yet.

Before he could say anything, his phone beeped with an alarm. He jumped to his feet, a cold shock soaking through him when he realized it was already nine in the morning.

 _“Shit_ , I’m late- I gotta go to work,” Keith rambled as he ran out the room, fumbling to take his mask off.

“We’re not done with this conversation,” Shiro called out to him, his voice stern.

“Trust me, I know,” Keith called back before slipping out the room and into the shadows.

* * *

Keith jogged through the lobby of the lab, giving the receptionist a quick nod as he pulled his lab coat on, checking himself in and making his way to the elevator. He got in, and rode it up to the third floor before getting out and setting a quick pace through the hall to get to the research lab. He made sure to dodge out of people's way so nobody would notice he was thirty minutes late.

When he burst into the computer room to get his things, it was seemingly empty. He sighed in relief before making his way to his desk, fumbling through his pocket for his keys.

“Forget to put on an alarm, again?” an amused voice spoke up, and Keith instinctively jumped before twirling to meet the source of it.

Pidge was sat at her desk, a smirk on her lips and an eyebrow raised in question.

“Yeah,” Keith replied. “I, uh… overslept.”

Pidge hummed before going through her computer, typing in a few things. After about half a minute, she said. “Looks to me like you checked in early, today. Thirty minutes to be exact. That’s pretty admirable.”

Keith smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Pidge.”

Pidge tapped a finger against her nose before resuming her work.

Keith made his way to his own computer, printing out the materials he needed and gathering his stuff before taking his papers and getting to work. He had a full list of things to do, today, and he happily welcomed the work. 

Whatever would distract him from the memory of blue eyes and a warm voice, he'd take it.

* * *

An insistent and _loud_ ringing pulled Lance from his deep sleep. He forced his heavy eyelids open and fumbled around groggily for his phone before grabbing it and squinting at the screen.

Through his sleep-blurred gaze, Lance saw Hunk’s name light up on his phone. He accepted the call, bringing his phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“I’m at the door. Can you open up?”

Lance sat up a bit too quick, dizziness overtaking him. “Yeah. Be there in a sec.”

He hung up before throwing his legs off the bed, and taking a deep breath, rubbing his gritty eyes. He reached around him for his discarded shirt, fumbling blindly before he found it and slipped it on.

Lance padded through his small apartment to the front door. When he opened it, Hunk was standing there with a brown bag. He gave Lance a smile.

“Hey, buddy. How you feeling?”

Lance leaned against his door, making an a-okay symbol with his fingers before letting Hunk in.

“Honestly? I’m drugged up on so many painkillers I feel absolutely nothing,” Lance slurred before closing the door behind him.

“Good,” Hunk replied, making his way to the kitchen as he pulled some stuff out of his bag. “I brought some lunch. You do realize it’s three o’clock, right? And a Saturday? Don’t you wanna go outside?”

Lance plopped down at his tiny circular dining table as Hunk put together some soup and sandwiches he’d brought. He looked through Lance’s cupboard in a disapproving manner, pulling out a large mug and a chipped bowl before pouring the soup into both of them.

“I’m too tired,” Lance replied. “And drugged, in case you missed that.”

“You need some dishes, man,” Hunk spoke up as he tried to find plates to put the sandwiches on before giving up and beginning his trek to look for spoons.

“Noted. I’ll be making enough money soon enough. Then we can go shopping for an actual dish set at Ikea together.”

Hunk’s eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Yep. Iverson is promoting me.”

“Lance! That’s great! When do you go back to work?”

“Next week on Monday. He gave me the rest of the week and an additional one to recover. It's been long empty hours of nothingness. I’ve watched so much Netflix, Hunk. _So much.”_

Hunk smiled, walking over to the table and handing Lance some food before sitting across from him. “Good. You deserve it.”

Lance frowned at his soup, sifting his spoon through it. “I’m not sure I do.”

Worry creased Hunk’s brow, and he leaned forward onto the table, trying to catch Lance’s eyes.

“What makes you say that?”

Not looking up, Lance shrugged a shoulder. “Iverson wants me covering everything to do with The Shadow from now on.”

Hunk perked up. “Dude! That’s great!”

Lance shook his head. “I don’t wanna do it.”

“What?” Hunk exclaimed. “Why not?”

Lance met his best friend’s eyes, now. “I shouldn’t have tried to expose him in the first place. He couldn’t have been going through so much to hide his image for nothing. For some crazy odd reason he trusted me. And I… I feel like I took advantage of that.”

Hunk hummed as he processed what Lance was saying. “Well, to be fair, you didn’t expose too much about him. Even the photo you used is going through mass speculation. People think it’s staged.”

Lance thought about the photo he had saved to his computer- the one where he could see The Shadow’s masked face.

He’d opened that file more times than he’d like to admit.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“Honestly, Lance, he’s a superhero. He can’t stay in the shadows forever. Sooner or later, people are going to bring him into the light. They’re going to put an image to him, and make action figures and all that jazz. One harmless controversial article isn’t going to destroy his secrecy.”

Lance was silent for a long time, digesting what his friend had said. “Maybe you’re right….”

“I am. Now eat your soup before it gets cold. Shay made it especially for you.”

Lance smiled. “Tell her I said thanks,” he spoke before scooping up some of the chicken noodles and taking a bite.

“Well, you can tell her yourself if you want to,” Hunk began, and Lance raised an eyebrow in interest. “That’s part of the reason I came over to check on you. I wanted to see if you were down for dinner and drinks tonight.”

Pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth, Lance set it back into his mug. Something caught at his heart, and he tried to avoid his friend's pressing gaze.

Normally, he would be completely down to drink and hang out with his friends. But something held him back.

“I dunno….”

Hunk prodded him on, “Pidge is bringing a friend from work- Keith. He’s single and attractive. Apparently. I haven't seen him. She told me to tell you that.”

Lance snorted. “Even more reason for me not to go. I look like shit.”

“Aw, come on, Lance. We miss you, and we haven’t gone out in ages.”

Lance shrugged before giving Hunk a sheepish smile. “Just… raincheck, okay? I promise I’ll tag along next time.”

Hunk frowned before relenting. “Alright.” He eyed Lance warily. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Lance shrugged. "As much as I can be."

Concern flicked over Hunk's features. He studied his friend for a moment.

"Have you been sleeping enough?"

Trying to avoid his friend's eyes, Lance continued to eat. "Here and there," he murmured between bites of chicken.

That didn't ease the look from Hunk's face. "Do you need me to stay here a few nights?"

Lance shook his head quickly. "No, man, it's fine. You don't need to do that."

"I don't mind," Hunk insisted. "Just until you feel safe again."

Lance smiled bitterly at that, feeling the familiar trickle of panic worm its way to his heart. He took a slow breath before speaking.

"That's the thing, buddy. I just... I don't think I'll ever feel safe, again. I mean- I know it was my fault. I got myself into this, and I knew what I was agreeing to. I should toughen up and pay the price. But I... it's all  _really_ scary. I just- I don't know what waits around every corner I turn. I don't even feel safe in my own home. And I brought all this on myself, and I feel so idiotic, and I just _wish--"_

Hunk got up, walking over to Lance before scooping him up into a hug.

"It'll be okay," he spoke, his voice soft and warm, and Lance breathed in a hiccup of air before letting himself bury his face in Hunk's shoulder as he tried to reign in his emotions. He grabbed onto the sides of Hunk's shirt, balling his fists into the soft material to stop them from shaking. After a while, once Lance had calmed down, Hunk pulled away slightly. He looked Lance in the eyes before speaking. 

"Here's something I've learned about you that always proves to be true:

"You get yourself into some really sticky situations. Ones that, sometimes, I didn't even think a person could get themselves into. You're reckless, impulsive, and you follow your heart instead of logic. I think I've tried to talk you out of some really terrible decisions at least a hundred times. But the thing is... with every repercussion that comes with those decisions, you take it. You learn from it. You grow. And, somehow, each and every time you get yourself into some mess like this, you end up unscathed. You've survived against some pretty big odds and some pretty shitty circumstances. Honestly, man... it's like you've got some guardian angel watching over you."

Lance laughed wetly, wiping at his eyes. "Yeah, it's you."

"Well, of course. But something else, too. I know you'll be alright. You'll get through this. Just... you don't have to do it alone. You have me, and Pidge, and Shay. We're always ready to be there for you. So let us _be there for you,_ okay?"

Smiling, Lance gave a nod. "Yeah... okay, I will."

Hunk smiled brightly, now, and he ruffled Lance's hair affectionately. He stood up. "Good. So I'll be stopping by tonight with some snacks and movies."

"No, Hunk, you don't have to cancel your night--"

"Oh, I won't be. I'm having Shay drop me over here at midnight. Expect to fill your night slash early morning with caring after Drunk Hunk."

Lance laughed, and he felt a lot better. "Sounds great."

"And this time I expect you to be my little spoon."

"I won't leave you hanging."

Hunk smiled, and gave a nod. He sat back down in his seat. "Good."

They continued eating, but this time Lance had far more of an appetite. 

There was something Hunk had said... something that resonated deeply with Lance. The thing about having a guardian angel.

He couldn't help but think it was true.

* * *

Keith wasn’t going to do any surveying, tonight. He was exhausted and still a little drunk from his night out with Pidge and her friends. It was stupid and one hundred percent a bad idea to do this in his state, but he didn’t want to go back home and face Shiro just yet. He needed a distraction.

So there he was, perched on a rooftop as he ate a sandwich he’d “picked up” from a gas station. Or stolen. To-may-to to-mah-to. He’d saved the owner from an armed robbery last year, so he figured one pre-wrapped sandwich wouldn’t hurt.

It was a quiet night. Keith wanted to enjoy it. To just relax for once in his life. And his night with Pidge had almost done that. He'd drank, listened to Pidge and Hunk do some terrible karaoke, and had even gotten a drink from a cute guy who'd given Keith his number. It was  _fun._ Except for the fact that the whole night Keith couldn't bring himself to fully loosen up. After two hours in, he'd given his friends some lame excuse and hightailed it out of there. 

Which led him to where he was, now.

He _needed_ something. Just one thing- one small fist fight to calm his nerves. To bring himself back into focus.

He finished his sandwich and tossed the wrapper, leaning forward to rest his elbows onto his knees before heaving out a sigh. He could hear a motorcycle in the distance… could hear the pounding of a bass and some people laughing. It was a boring night. 

Keith could've gone to the crappier part of town and staked out Sendak and his guys. But he knew that even though he had some supernatural advantages, he couldn't take them all on while still tipsy. So here he sat, restless and itching for a fight. He was just about to go look for one when he paused, eyes catching on a figure walking down the street. A cold shock ran through him, and he almost fell off the rooftop from leaning forward too fast.

It was him. The stranger from the docks.

He was dressed in a baggy red sweater that swallowed up his frame. His sweatpants were equally loose and worn, and he had an arm wrapped around his side. Keith frowned. He always forgot it took normal people longer to heal. Even his bullet wound from the other morning was nothing but a faint scar.

Keith watched as the blue-eyed boy walked into a corner store. Curious, he leapt down from his perch on the roof and slipped through the alleyway by the shop, hiding behind a dumpster. He peeked through the window, eyes searching but coming across nothing.

He'd lost track of the stranger for a moment, but after a minute he appeared at the counter, a couple wine bottles in hand. He smiled kindly at the cashier, and seemed to be having a conversation with him. His eyes lit up- little wrinkles crinkling the edges of them into a squint.

Keith couldn't help but smile back.

When the blue-eyed stranger walked out of the store, Keith slinked back behind the dumpster, blending into the shadows as he watched over him.

He should confront him. About the article. He should talk to him.

But he didn't. Instead, he watched as the stranger walked away.

Then he followed him.

Honestly, he could blame the alcohol in his system, but Keith knew the real reason he was doing this. It wasn't to confront him or to clear the air. 

It was because he hadn't been able to stop thinking about him since the moment he saw him. And it was driving him insane.

He was going to follow this guy to his home, then call Allura so she could erase Keith from his memory. 

Then maybe he'd take her up on her offer, and remove those blue eyes from his own memory.

That was that- it was the only thing he could do. Then he'd be rid of this whole mess, and he'd never let himself get tangled up into something like this, again. It was the right thing to do- the  _responsible_ thing to do. 

It was what Shiro would do.

Keith couldn't go home until he cleared his conscience of this whole mess.

He kept that in mind as he followed the stranger through the dark streets. 

* * *

Lance wiggled his key in its lock before pushing at his door with his shoulder, forcing it open as it groaned and protested on its hinges. He walked in and closed it behind him with his foot, locking the door then dead bolting it before making his way to the kitchen. He put his paper bag on the counter before searching through his cupboard for a glass, settling for a mug with a snowman on it. He searched through his kitchen drawers for a corkscrew before finding one and opening up one of his wine bottles, pouring a good helping into his mug.

He brought it with him to the couch, drinking a deep gulp of it before sitting down and setting it on his lap, his fingers twined through the ceramic handle.

He tapped his foot repeatedly as he sorted through his thoughts.

Hunk would be here, soon. Everything would be alright. He'd finally be able to get some sleep.

Swallowing hard, Lance looked around him, eyes flicking to every dark corner of his apartment. He couldn't help but feel as though someone would pop out and take him away.

He closed his eyes tight, squeezing his mug and trying to clear his mind.

All he could feel was a foot colliding into his ribs, and the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

Lance opened his eyes and drank more from his mug, trying to push those thoughts away.

He was alright. He was safe. Everything would be fine.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Lance jumped in his seat, sloshing a bit of wine onto his sweatpants as he looked wildly around him. It was silent, though. He was alone- no noise but the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

He could've sworn he'd heard--

_Tap, tap, tap._

Lance's head whipped to the window, and he nearly shouted in shock when he saw someone perched on the fire escape outside of it. He stood up quick, eyes wide when he recognized the figure.

The Shadow.

Placing a hand over his pounding heart, Lance put his drink down and cautiously made his way towards the window. The whole while The Shadow watched him, observing Lance just as intently as Lance was observing him.

He hesitated momentarily before pulling the stubborn window open.

Despite the adrenaline that still tingled in his veins and the fear that made his heartbeat pick up, Lance found it in himself to give The Shadow a bewildered look before he spoke.

"You know I have a front door, right? You scared the crap outta me."

The Shadow watched him, saying nothing. He looked timid- almost sheepish. Lance blinked, not expecting that.

"Do you wanna come in?"

A slight nod, and Lance opened the window wider. The Shadow climbed in before standing face to face with Lance. They both stood there for a while, watching one another. Nobody moved to close the window, and the chilly autumn air creeped into the room. Lance's throat felt dry, and he didn't know what to say first.

He figured an apology would be a good start.

Before he could begin, The Shadow spoke up.

"I took care of them. The Galra. They shouldn't bother you, now."

Lance's eyes widened. 

"You didn't...."

"No. I don't kill," The Shadow explained, looking away before meeting Lance's eyes, again. "I had... their memories have been wiped of their encounter with you."

Lance was confused. "You can do that?"

"I have the means."

It was silent, once more. Lance spoke up.

"I don't know if you saw, but I wrote an article--"

"I saw."

Lance stopped, and swallowed. "Right... I just- I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have written anything about you. It wasn't right."

The Shadow didn't speak. He searched Lance's eyes, his own shadowed by his hood. His face was a mask of darkness, highlighted with crimson.

Suddenly, Lance remembered something.

"I want to give you something," he spoke up before making his way to the couch and grabbing his laptop from the side table. He opened it, pulling up his files and searching for the right one. When he found it, he looked up. The Shadow was still standing by the window, watching Lance.

"Come here," he beckoned, patting the seat next to him.

The Shadow hesitated before walking over to Lance. He stood by the couch, and after another insistent pat on the cushion from Lance, he sat down rigidly. Lance angled his computer to show him the file.

"I took these photos the night at the dock. There's also... uh, one of you. A clearer one. I... I didn't want to use it," Lance tried to explain, fighting off the heat that crawled up his cheeks. "So I just... kept it? Uh- there's also a voice recording I managed to get of the gang before they... well, discovered me. Here, take this," Lance spoke, placing the laptop on The Shadow's lap before he got up suddenly, getting his messenger bag from where it was laid next to the TV. He searched through it until he found a clean flash drive, and brought it back with him to the couch. He reached for his laptop, and The Shadow paused before handing it awkwardly back to him. Lance got to work, then, plugging in the flash drive and moving the file to it. 

Once all the information had been moved to the flash drive, Lance made a point of deleting the file permanently from his computer. Then he turned to face The Shadow from his seat on the couch, who in turn also moved to face Lance. They gazed at one another for a long while before Lance handed the flash drive over.

"I want you to have it. And... I want to say sorry. Again."

The Shadow stared at the flash drive for a second before taking it in his gloved hand. He turned it this way and that, then looked at Lance. Finally, he spoke.

"It doesn't make sense," he murmured, and Lance's eyebrows screwed together in confusion at the statement.

"Huh?"

"Red Shadow. It doesn't make sense. A shadow is an absence of light. Without light, there's no color."

Oh. The article. He was referring to Lance's article.

Feeling oddly embarrassed, Lance's hand flew to his neck, and he rubbed at it, avoiding the man's gaze.

"I dunno, dude, it was just supposed to sound cool. It's, like... your superhero name. Or whatever."

The Shadow hummed in contemplation before a smile lifted his lips. Lance's heart did little flops at the sight of it.

"I like it."

Lance smiled back. "I'm glad."

The Shadow looked like there was something more he wanted to say. He seemed to hold himself back, mouth opening then screwing into a frown before he finally voiced his thoughts.

"What... what's your name?"

Lance blinked, shocked. His heart picked up in its pace, and he tried to calm it. He gathered his wits, and was almost shocked with himself when he realized a smile was pulling at his lips.

"My name is Lance. Lance McClain."

The Shadow stared at Lance hard. He heard a small murmur.

"Lance...."

"Yeah," Lance smiled. Then he paused before asking, "What can I call you?"

At that, The Shadow smirked. "It seems you've already thought of a name for me."

Lance thought for a moment, searching indigo eyes surrounded by shadows and bright red... red.

"Red," he whispered. The Shadow leaned closer, as if to try and catch the soft word while it still floated in the air between them.

Lance leaned forward, too.

"Red," he repeated. "Like your mask," he spoke before gesturing to The Shadow's mask- his hand brushing his hood.

Red didn't pull back at that. In fact, he leaned closer. Lance's fingers found the material of the hood, rubbing it between them softly. 

Carefully- slowly- Lance tugged gently at the hood. He pulled it back gradually, watching Red's reaction and giving him enough time to pull away, to resist, to knock Lance unconscious and leave no trace of himself behind. To disappear and melt into the shadows.

He didn't move- didn't reject him. He only tilted his head downwards, almost shyly concealing himself, though his eyes looked up into Lance's.

So Lance took a brave step forward, and let the hood fall away from Red's face.

He was young, just as Lance had guessed. His face was still slightly rounded with youth- his hair long and soft when Lance accidentally brushed against it. 

Lance stared, transfixed as Red stared back at him. They were silent. It was like time had stopped, like they were floating in nothingness with only one another to keep themselves grounded to reality. All Lance could see- all he could focus on was an alien mixture of indigo and red.

He opened his mouth, ready to say something-  _anything_  to make this real--

A knock on the door beat him to it, and both Red and Lance jumped before whipping their heads to look at the front door. The knocking continued.

"Lance? You home?"

The material of the hood left Lance's hand, and when he looked back in front of him Red was gone, leaving nothing behind. When Lance looked to the window, it was still ajar.

He saw a flicker of shadows, then nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if there's errors,,, i edited while half asleep
> 
> next chapter will hopefully be next saturday <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting this late! These past few months I was busy getting an apartment and doing some job interviews! But, good news,,, I've moved! To a city I've wanted to live in forever. It's pretty far from where I was, and I’ve only just moved there so chapters may be a bit slow for a while as I settle in. But I will definitely be working hard to keep this fic going.
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's pretty lengthy to make up for being gone so long. Thank you all so much for the continued reviews in my absence. It means the world to me, and I can't express how much I appreciate it.
> 
> Enjoy <3

“You can’t lose control. The moment you do, it’s all over.”

Those were some of the first words Shiro told Keith when he handed him his mask.

Keith was impulsive. He never listened to his head- only did what his gut told him to do, and never questioned his instincts. It was, as Shiro once told him, both his biggest strength and biggest weakness.

Losing control. Losing sight of right and wrong.

Visiting Lance became ritual, after that night.

He’d waited a while- had exercised caution, as Shiro would have advised him, and made sure Lance didn’t write anything about their interaction. He went through the flash drive- listened to the audio recording and informed his team of the leads it provided. They'd managed to locate a new base of operations for the Galra gang- it was valuable information. Information that Lance could have handed over to the police, and been awarded a lot of money for.

Keith had seen Lance's apartment. He knew he could've done with some extra cash.

Not to mention the photos, and the recording of Keith and Lance's conversation.

Disregarding the fact that the photos also contained clear images of major members of the Galra gang, another thing Lance would have been heavily rewarded for, it also contained clear pictures of Keith, himself. One in particular showed his face- masked but concrete and real. Definitely a lot better than the one Lance had chosen for his article.

It didn't take long for Keith to realize that Lance had purposefully blurred out details in his original article. Not of his own involvement- he made it clear what he had done, where he had gone, and what had happened to him. The only thing he did to protect himself was leave his name anonymous- something the Galra gang would have been able to uncover easily enough with their unlimited resources, had Allura not wiped their memories.

He only blurred out details of Keith. Both in his writing, and then in his front-page-photo. It worried Keith- made him anxious. 

What was Lance playing at? Was this some part of a bigger motive? Was he trying to gain Keith's trust, just to throw it all away when it suited him best?

Somehow, Keith couldn't believe that. He didn't know Lance- hardly knew a thing about him. But he trusted his gut- his surefire instincts that have kept him alive at least this long.

They told him that Lance was not a threat.

Keith waited nearly a week, hearing nothing from The Daily Journal, or any other news company. He looked up Lance's name, articles on the "Red Shadow",  _anything_ that Lance might have been involved in or published about their second encounter.

Nothing.

Once the week was up, he’d found himself straying to Lance’s apartment after a long night of restless surveillance.

Lance was in the kitchen, cooking something over the stove, singing along to soft music that beat steadily throughout his home. Lyrics came over Keith- gentle and muted, but Keith could tell it wasn’t English… maybe French... Spanish?

He started to feel weird, watching Lance from the fire escape. It had only been a couple seconds, but it was definitely a couple seconds too many. Just as he got up and was about to leave, Lance turned, a pan in one hand and his other reaching out for something on the counter behind him. Then his eyes moved up and connected with Keith’s.

He gave a small jolt, a hand flying to land on his chest. Then he visibly relaxed. His eyes shone with excitement, and a smile overcame his features. He set down the pan that was in his hand, and made his way over to the window.

Something in Keith wanted to bolt- the logical side of him knew he should leave. But a stronger side, a side that seemed to take full control over him in that moment, made him stay.

Lance pried the window open, the old thing giving a pathetic groan as it slid upwards. He locked the window before poking his head out, a goofy smile on his face.

He looked warm- _smelled_ warm, like cinnamon and peppers, and the soft yellow light from inside lit his hair with a gentle glow- making it shift from brown to gold. He crossed his arms, leaning forward on the windowsill. His forearms were exposed and wiry, a beige sweater rolled up above his elbows. Keith’s eyes strayed back to Lance’s whose smile turned more teasing as his blue eyes shone with mischief. Music leaked out from inside- clearer, but still grainy, as if it were being played on an old radio.

“So, how long’ve you been out here?” Lance asked. The air before his lips condensed into a gentle white cloud as he spoke. Keith didn’t realize how cold the night was. He felt a little too hot for comfort.

Keith blushed, grateful for his mask and hood. “I just got here.”

Lance hummed, eyes closely scanning over Keith, as if he were afraid he’d disappear. Given Keith’s track record, it wasn’t an unjustified fear.

“Do you wanna come in?”

Keith dodged his eyes away, felt a sliver of uncertainty worm its way into his gut. Shiro's voice echoed through his head.

_Don't lose control._

“I shouldn’t….”

Lance looked worried, and he pressed further, straightening up a little bit as he spoke.

“I wouldn’t mind the company. You’d be doing me a favor, really.”

Keith remained silent, trying to fight with everything within him that told him this was wrong, and with the bigger urge to say “fuck it” and do what he wanted so badly to do.

“I’m alone,” Lance continued, still searching Keith- as if he were trying to read his thoughts. “I’m not expecting anyone….”

“Alright,” Keith finally replied. “Yeah.”

Lance’s smile returned again, and he moved to the side to let Keith in. Once inside, Lance gestured for Keith to follow him.

He did so without question.

“You know, I didn’t think you’d come back,” Lance spoke as he made his way to the kitchen, picking up his pan and a container of some sort of spice. He added a bit, then brought it back to the stove and continued rambling, “I was actually starting to think I’d made the whole thing up in my head. With all those painkillers and the lack of sleep- well, uh, I mean, it just… wouldn’t be improbable if I imagined it because it’s all kind of… this is… you’re just… sorta unbelievable?”

Keith realized he should say something when Lance turned around to look at him- studying him carefully, and looking sheepish.

“I wanted to check on you. Make sure you were recovering fine.”

Lance visibly deflated. “Oh,” he murmured. A nervous laugh. “So, do you do that for everyone you save?”

A moment of silence. Keith spoke up.

“No. Not really….”

Lance lit up, once again. He gave Keith a warm smile.

“I guess I should feel special.”

“Probably.”

Silence.

“Well… I’m doing fine. Just went to the doctor this morning, and everything’s on track,” Lance updated, lowering the gas on the stove as he turned to give Keith a quick look before continuing what he was doing. His hands flitted about anxiously while he worked. Every couple seconds as he cooked, he checked behind him to make sure Keith was still there. After a minute, he spoke up, and his voice was soft. “You sure that’s all you came back for?”

 _No,_ Keith thought.

He didn’t say it out loud, just watched Lance as he moved around- studying him. The nervous, butterfly-like movements of his hands… the way he talked a mile a minute, the subtle flickering of his fingers as they scratched at his inner wrist, and how his voice seemed higher than Keith remembered. He was nervous.

“Why did you stake out the Galra?” Keith asked, noticing the way Lance’s shoulders tensed up before he looked at Keith nervously, then away.

Lance shrugged. “For… for work, I guess.”

Keith squinted. “All that for an article?”

Lance chuckled at that, but it didn’t sound right.

“I’m not the first reporter to do something stupid for a scoop.”

Keith studied him some more. “You put your life at risk. You don’t believe your job is worth that, do you?”

“Of course not,” Lance answered, maybe a bit too quickly. His defenses were coming up, shoulders raised and eyebrows threaded.

Keith paused, giving Lance a moment to calm down. He waited until the tension had left the air before he continued. “Then why did you do it?”

He could tell Lance was frowning- could hear it in his next statement. “Well, believe it or not, but you’re not the only one out there who wants to help people. Just because I don’t have super powers doesn’t mean I need to sit on the sidelines of your big story,” he exclaimed, aggressively stirring some vegetables before he paused and turned to look back at Keith. His blue eyes were soft, hesitant, and apologetic. “Sorry… that was… sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Keith answered, taking a moment to digest what Lance had said. This was all more personal to him than Keith could comprehend. 

There was something else at play.

It was silent for a moment. Suddenly, Lance turned around with the skillet in his hand, and rifled through his cabinet, pulling out two plates.

“Here, try this,” he insisted, pouring the food onto the two platters. “It’s nothing fancy, really. Just some meat and vegetables. My mom used to make it for my dad all the time. It was his favorite, even though it's pretty simple... it's quick and easy to make. But it still has something personal in it to make it special..." Lance trailed off, looking lost in thought, talking more to himself than to Keith. He paused. "She's a doctor- my mom. Works crazy hours. Sometimes stuff like this was all she could manage to make before she'd just pass out on the couch for the night. Some days when she was really tired I'd make it for everyone so she could rest,” Lance rambled, splitting the small portion of food between them. Keith wanted to protest, to tell the scrawny boy that he needed all the food he could get, but Lance just looked so happy as he prepared both dishes, Keith couldn’t find it in himself to reject it. He understood.

It was a meal meant to be shared.

Lance grabbed both the dishes and walked over to a small round dining table, jerking his head in that direction as a signal for Keith to follow.

Keith, bewildered with himself, did so.

It was strangely intimate, sitting at Lance’s dining table and eating with him. Though Keith merely picked at his food and watched Lance as he ate, he still felt a billion different emotions running through him.

One of them was a bizarre sense of satisfaction… a feeling that told him he really liked this.

He instantly suppressed it.

Don't get comfortable. _Don't. Lose. Control._

The music stopped and Lance got up, walking over to the source of it. Keith’s eyes followed him, watching as Lance went over to a record player, taking the vinyl on it and flipping it to play the music from the other side. He gently put the needle back on, and music continued to leak into the room. Lance looked up, and caught Keith’s eyes. He smiled.

“The vinyl was my dad’s. He brought that whole crate of them with him from Cuba,” Lance explained, gesturing to a crate by the wall filled with vinyls. There had to be at least a hundred. “He used to have more. He collected them- had maybe three hundred. But his apartment got broken into and... well, yeah," Lance trailed off. He quickly changed the subject as he walked back to the table and sat down. "I bought the record player- his was too big to bring with him. One of those really old ones that come in a bunch of pieces. The vinyls- they're mostly Spanish music- but a few classics. Some Rolling Stones, Deep Purple, Elton John. We used to listen to a lot of music together when I was growing up.”

Keith felt oddly enamored with the small piece of Lance’s life he was choosing to share. It was a warm memory of family- something Keith could understand, though his circumstances were far different from Lance’s.

“That’s… that’s really nice,” he found himself replying.

Again, Lance looked embarrassed at the bout of oversharing he’d once more fallen into. “Yeah…” he murmured, smiling slightly as he dodged away from Keith's gaze. He played with his food a bit, and Keith couldn’t help but watch him, though that was likely making him even more nervous. Eventually, Lance looked up- catching Keith’s eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he backtracked.

“What is it?” Keith asked, urging him on.

Lance frowned, hesitant. He seemed to gather his words before he spoke.

“I really am sorry. About publishing that article about you.”

Keith blinked, shocked with the turn the conversation had taken. He’d almost completely forgotten about that.

The thought struck him, then, that it really didn’t matter. He didn’t care. Exposed or not, his secrecy wasn’t worth Lance’s guilt.

He didn’t say that, though.

“You masked a lot of details,” he said, instead.

Lance shrugged. “I mean, I figured… if the Galra gang were gonna come after me, the least I could do was make it more difficult for them to track you.”

Keith blinked. He felt himself leaning forward, slightly.

“They won’t find you.”

Lance met Keith’s eyes. He seemed like he was trying to understand.

“You said their memories were wiped… how did you do that?”

Keith paused for a moment, thinking over his response. He couldn’t out Allura- couldn’t trust Lance enough, yet.

“I didn’t do it. But I have the ability at my disposal.”

At that, Lance snorted, “Like one of those neuralyzers from Men In Black?”

Keith smiled. “Sure.”  
Lance sifted his fork through his food, smiling down at his plate.

“Well, I know I said it before, but… thanks. For having my back.”

“Anytime,” Keith replied with a smile. He didn’t miss the light blush that dusted Lance’s cheeks at the assurance.

_PING._

Keith's earpiece sounded the dreaded notification- a sharp note that grounded him once again. He’d been in one uncharted location too long- a location not in the system’s database as a stakeout or heavy crime activity area. A third ping without movement and it’d send an alert out to Shiro.

He stood up suddenly, trying to conceal the panic he felt in his veins. Lance straightened up, looking at him with concern.

“I have to go,” Keith spoke up before making his way to the window. Before he could climb through it, Lance scrambled there, and he grabbed his hand.

“Wait,” he insisted, voice soft yet stern. A second ping. Keith looked to Lance, frantically searching his eyes. Lance hesitated, his grip loosening just slightly before it tightened once more, and resolve hardened his gaze.

They stared at one another for a moment.

“Will I see you again?” Lance asked.

Keith’s heart fluttered, giving a little jump. He knew his answer before he spoke it.

“Yes.”

He disappeared through the window.

* * *

Keith kept to his word. He visited Lance almost every night since then.

Most of the time they’d sit out on the fire escape- Lance wrapped in a worn quilt as he talked to Keith about anything and everything. About his family, his home back in Florida, his dog- a Rough Collie named Lady, and how much he missed having her cuddled up with him in bed. About how, his entire childhood, he’d wanted to be an astronaut- to explore worlds unknown.

Keith didn’t bother to tell him it wasn’t worth the trip.

Sometimes they’d take the conversation inside- talk on Lance’s couch for a while before Lance would get sleepy and Keith would say his goodbyes.

Some days, when both Keith and Lance were tired and silent, they’d listen to Lance’s vinyls and let that fill the gaps in conversation, sitting in a content manner with one another as they talked softly.

After two weeks of this, leaving only after thirty minutes every night, Keith asked Coran- Allura’s uncle and the base’s technician- to put down Lance’s address as a new stake out location. After some flippant excuse of a possible lead, Coran was convinced and Keith could spend more time with Lance.

It was addicting, enthralling- a feeling that Keith had never experienced before. Not when he was fighting crime, or using his powers. Nothing could compare.

It was dangerous.

Keith liked talking to Lance. Or, well, listening to Lance talk. Usually, after a rough night staking out the Galra, or a harsh training session, or just anything that left Keith a little bit more than banged up and with a sour attitude, he’d stop by Lance’s apartment, knock on the window, and try to calm the acrobatic show his heart would pull in his chest when he’d be greeted with a warm smile and bright eyes.

He couldn’t help himself. He had no control. Not anymore.

Shiro didn’t know. Neither did Allura, or Coran, or any of the others that made up their team. For all they knew, Keith was just being Keith- spending long nights gathering intel on the Galra Gang.

Keith remembered the night after he’d visited Lance that very first time. He’d had a long talk with Shiro about what he and Allura had done, and about his flippancy with making sure Lance wouldn’t reveal more. It had ended in a fight, as all of their talks did.

It didn’t use to be like that….

Allura had found Keith in his usual stake-out spot in East Side, where he watched over drunk idiots as they made their way home in the middle of the night.

She wasn’t dressed in her suit like Keith was. Just a baggy black pullover with the hood drawn up to conceal her pointed ears and the pink arrow-like markings underneath her eyes. She stared at Keith for a long time before he sighed and spoke up.

“I’m not going to apologize to him.”

Allura hummed in acknowledgement. “Alright. But you should.”

Keith prickled, and opened his mouth to reply. Before he could say anything, Allura beat him to it.

“It’s not like he’s your enemy. He’s not trying to hurt you. It’s the opposite, really. He’s worried.”

“He’s always worried,” Keith retorted, glaring down at the streets. He wished somebody would get robbed so he could end this conversation.

“So make it easier on him. Stop giving him things to worry about.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, giving Allura a look. “Did you forget that we wear superhero costumes and fight crime?”

“That is something we can manage. Something we have rules for. A structure. What you and I did… our rogue mission... then not wiping that reporter's memories to finish the job... Keith, that’s out of bounds. It’s something we can’t know the impact of for certain.”

Keith scowled. “You always break the rules.”

“And _I’m_ not allowed out during daylight, remember? I technically don’t exist on this planet. There’s no identity to be exposed. Shiro is lenient with my misbehavior because he has to be. You’re different.”

Keith pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his arms on his knees as he pointedly looked away from Allura.

“Any chance you can take him back to space?”

He knew Allura was giving him a look. He could feel it as well as he felt his own disappointment at himself for speaking the words- the words that had been lingering in the back of his mind for years.

“You don’t mean that.”

Keith dodged the statement. “He’s not the same. He’s changed.”

“So have you.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? You adapted to your surroundings. He did, too. You know what it was like back there. Imagine spending five years locked away rather than one.”

Keith didn’t want to admit it, but he knew Allura was right. He flattened his lips into a line, and decided not to answer.

“He gets angry with you because he loves you. He cares for you. You’re the last of his blood- his _family._ His rules are ridiculous, and his precautions are extreme, but you have to be flexible and work with him. He’s still recovering, in a way, and… after everything we’ve been through... I don’t think he could go on if he lost you.”

Keith felt a burning behind his eyes, but he steeled himself against it. His hands were clenched into fists, and even through the material of his gloves he could feel his fingernails digging crescents into his palms.

It was silent for a long while. They listened to the noise of the city together.

“Will you come home, tonight?”

Keith clenched his jaw before giving a stiff nod. “Later.”

“Alright. I’ll see you there.”

A gentle hand to his cheek- a soft wave of soothing emotions. Keith didn’t resist it- let himself take in the foreign intrusion, and he could feel his muscles relax.

The hand removed itself, and Keith was left with nothing but pinpricks of an emotion… a feeling of his blistered and calloused hands gripping onto rock... climbing, the sun beating down on the back of his neck… sweat dripping past his brow… a deep laugh, and jumping into a cold river…. Dark eyes squinted into a smile, framed with wet lashes, and a hand ruffling his hair. The sun setting in pinks and oranges and reds over an endless stretch of canyons… then….

Blue eyes. Wide, gentle, open.

Keith closed his eyes, savoring the feeling before it trickled away- nothing more than memories from long ago… and the other so near he could almost touch it.

* * *

For as long as Lance could remember, he told Hunk everything.  

Every embarrassing admission- every deep dark secret or small little incident, Hunk was Lance’s go-to person. It had been that way forever- Lance never kept _anything_ from him. He’d never felt the need to- never felt there was anything in his life (big or small) he had to keep hidden from his best friend.

He didn’t tell him about Red.

When Hunk had knocked on Lance’s front door, and Red had disappeared out the window, Lance had exactly ten seconds to decide whether or not he was going to tell his friend everything that had just happened on his _fucking couch_ in his fucking _shabby living room._

When he reached the front door and was met with the sight of a happy, drunk Hunk, he found (to his complete shock) that he just… couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t tell him.

Later that night, as he laid awake in bed next to his snoozing friend, Lance realized why.

It wasn’t just his secret to share. It wasn’t his own life that hung in the balance of what he’d seen, and what he’d experienced.

It wasn’t his secret to share, but it was his to keep.

So he did. He didn’t write anything about their encounter. Didn’t tell Hunk, or Pidge, or Nyma, or Iverson.

Honestly, he was half convinced it didn’t happen, anyways. That it was just some drug-induced illusion from his lack of sleep and heavy medication.

Some part of him wanted that to be true. A bigger part of him hoped and prayed it wasn’t.

The only bit of evidence that kept him hanging onto his hopes was his missing flash drive.

So, after more than a week off, Lance went back to work.

It sucked.

He’d always thought he’d want the glory that would come with writing his first investigative reporter article. His first _real_ piece.

But the moment he walked through the door and was greeted with question after question and bombardments of comments and praise, Lance just felt like shit. Nyma, picking up on Lance's unease, eventually had to force people away from him before leading him to his desk and giving anyone who even glanced in their direction nasty glares.

Lance didn't feel any pride. Only guilt.

It wasn’t his story to tell. He wouldn’t even be alive if it wasn't for the Shadow, and all he’d done for him in return was expose him.

So when Iverson told Lance he’d be putting him to work on any content to do with the city’s vigilante, Lance knew he had to get out of it. But he didn’t know how.

Eventually, he’d agreed.

In the weeks that followed, Lance went to work writing some filler pieces on the pattern of crime in the city. He researched the statistics on lowered crime rates in once heavily affected areas, connected the results with vigilante sightings. He did interviews with people who had been saved, and wrote articles praising the vigilante, but none exposing more details about him. He’d even started putting his own name on his work, now, seeing as it was cleared and safe to do so- another undeserved gift from Red.

It kept Iverson off his back for the moment, but Lance knew it wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, he would want Lance to dig deeper.

He’d want another article exposing Red.

As Lance got to know the vigilante, it strengthened his resolve more and more.

He needed to quit his job.

After three weeks of his nightly rendezvous with Red, he’d started job searching.

He was credible, now- he’d written some great articles recently for the Daily Journal. He’d be able to hopefully get a new job in no time.

It all felt bittersweet, regardless.

He’d always wanted to work for the Daily Journal. It was all he read growing up- it was what inspired him. It was the way he knew he’d be able to make a change in the world in his own way- with his own unique talents.

To throw it all away… it was a tough choice, but Lance knew it was the right one.

Whatever kept Red safe, Lance would do it.

No matter what it took.

* * *

Keith dodged a blow from the simulator, ducking low before striking back, hitting its side with the rod of his staff to throw it off. Not allowing himself time to slow down even for a second, Keith quickly side-stepped, then put all his strength into one big kick. He sent it a good few feet away, and took the time to phase into the nearest shadow before emerging from behind the robot. He spun his staff to gain momentum before whacking the weapon on the back of its head with a sharp _crack!,_  sending it crumpling to the ground.

He didn’t notice the second simulator behind him- didn’t focus--

A strong kick to his ankle to throw him off balance, then the simulator finished Keith off with a clean smack to his ribs, sending him flying towards the nearest wall where the impact had his teeth chattering. A sharp pain split through his head as Keith sank to the ground.

“End simulation!” a deep voice commanded.

The simulator froze before deactivating, shutting off and sinking to the ground. Trying to gain his breath back in pained, shallow pants, Keith looked up at Shiro from where he was watching the spectacle in the observation deck of the training room. Allura and Coran were stood by his side, a look of concern on their faces. A hand was over Allura's mouth and Coran's eyes were wide before he blinked himself back to reality, hastily making his way out the observation deck.

Gathering his strength, Keith shakily tried to stand up before he realized he’d fractured his ankle. He gave a sharp hiss as he tried to stand on it before sagging slightly, supporting his weight against the wall.

Coran made it down in no time, putting a hand at Keith’s bruised back and helping him stand.

“Easy does it, lad. Slowly. How’s the head?”

Keith winced as a sharp pain seemed to answer Coran, shooting up his spine and crackling through his skull.

“Not good,” he managed to bite out.

Coran hummed. “May I?”

Keith sighed before giving a nod, and Coran’s fingers went to the base of Keith’s neck, pressing against the knob of his spine that resided there. A tingle of uncomfortable electricity, then the pain was gone.

“Thanks, Coran,” Keith muttered.

“Of course. Let’s go check out the rest of your injuries, yes?”

Keith nodded, letting Coran lead him out of the room. He snuck a look at the observation deck, only to find Shiro walking away.

* * *

“Your ribs and ankle should heal by tonight. The fractures are mild. However, I’d suggest you take it easy with your surveillance. Maybe have a relaxing, quiet night in,” Coran suggested, swiping through the hologram containing Keith’s X-Rays. "It could be nice. Allura has plenty of those... oh dear, what are they? Bath-soap bombers? I suggest the 'tisty tosty', as Allura called it. An interesting name. What a pleasant smell, too- a nice soak in that and your bizarre, convoluted human muscles will thank you."

Keith stood unsteadily, tugging on a clean shirt. “I’m fine. Already feeling better.”

Coran looked at him uncertainly, thoroughly unconvinced. That had been a level fifty-seven simulator- Keith's highest score, yet. Those strikes were meant for someone with bulk bigger than Shiro's. It shouldn't have been a problem for Keith, since his maneuvers were evasion and precise, lethal attacks. He just... lost his focus and fucked it all up. “You took quite the beating there," Coran pointed out, "I know you heal fast, but you’re not unbreakable. Quiznak, I’m not sure how many times I have to have this conversation with you _and_ Allura.”

Before Keith could reply, the doors to the medical room slid open and Shiro walked in- his face stern. Keith stiffened, ready for a lecture. Part of him wanted to hide behind Coran, who always tried to assuage their heated arguments.

“Coran, can I talk to Keith, please?” Shiro spoke, voice surprisingly calm. Keith met Coran’s intrigued gaze and raised brow, and gave a nod.

“Of course.”

When he left the room, Shiro gestured for Keith to sit back down on the medical bed. He did, eyeing his brother as he grabbed a chair and pulled it over next to the bed.

Shiro sat down, avoiding Keith’s eyes for a moment. It was silent.

“What’s Coran’s report?” he asked, glancing at Keith and finally meeting his gaze.

“Not too bad. I should be fine by tonight,” Keith informed. He knew that wasn’t really what Shiro came by to ask, though.

Shiro nodded, hesitating. Keith resisted the impulse to snap and ask what was going on.

“I did some digging,” Shiro finally spoke. “And I noticed you added a new address to the stakeout list without informing me.”

Keith’s blood froze in his veins. His tried to school himself into a neutral expression, and watched his brother carefully.

“I’m just following a lead,” he murmured, avoiding Shiro’s eyes as he fiddled with a loose thread in his shirt. Shiro watched his hand before his eyes flicked back to observe Keith’s face.

“Keith…” Shiro spoke, his voice tired, and Keith prepared himself for a lecture. He stiffened, bracing himself--

“I’m sorry.”

Keith’s eyes went wide, and he met Shiro’s gaze, unable to believe his ears.

“What?” he breathed.

“Recently… well, for a long while now...I haven’t been very open with you. I’m just so worried about losing you, again… about what we’re doing here. There are so many threats and risks. And I just- I thought I was protecting you. I know, now… that all I've been doing is pushing you away.”

Keith felt something stab at his heart. He avoided Shiro’s gaze, again, taking to looking at his boots. “Shiro….”

“I don’t want any secrets between us,” Shiro spoke, leaning forward intently. “You’re all I have left. If I’m harsh sometimes, it’s because I worry. I want us to trust each other over anything else. If we don’t, this whole thing… what we do- it isn’t going to work.”

“I know that,” Keith answered, voice clipped. Shiro didn’t offer a reply, so after a moment Keith continued, “So what did you find out?”

At that, Shiro smiled. “That you’ve been hanging out with Allura too much,” he spoke, his tone teasing and light. It almost made everything feel normal. “You’ve been at an apartment building. I didn’t make the connection, at first… I thought maybe you were on the rooftop doing surveillance. Then I noticed you were coming home later than usual,” Shiro sounded sheepish, now, “So… I had Coran track your movements for a few nights.”

Keith looked at his brother in an accusatory manner, and Shiro lifted his hands in apology. “I know, I’m sorry. I was concerned… you were gone so much, and Allura didn’t even know what you were up to.”

Keith crossed his arms, looking away as Shiro continued. He wished he could use his powers right now- just fade into the shadows and avoid this conversation completely.

“It didn’t take me long to find out, after that… you'd go to your usual places, but always end up back there at the end of the night. I did a quick run over the tenants of the building. Then I noticed a name. McClain. I’d seen some of his work recently in the Daily Journal.”

“It’s not what you think,” Keith quickly defended, and Shiro lifted up a hand to silence Keith’s defense before it could begin.

“How long has this been going on?”

Keith felt himself blush, and his crossed arms grew tighter. “About a month,” he bit out through his teeth. “I don’t _do_ anything. I don’t even take off my mask. I just… we just talk. Or, he talks. I just listen.”

“A month… and he hasn’t written anything? Hasn’t asked any questions?”

“None,” Keith answered. “He’s not what you think.”

Shiro frowned. “Still... this doesn’t feel right… it doesn't add up. You shouldn’t let anybody get too close--”

“You don’t _know_ him, Shiro. You don’t know a thing about him--”

“I don’t have to know him to know that every interaction you two share endangers both you, _and_ him,” Shiro interrupted, voice tense though he kept it low enough to avoid yelling. They both knew that once the yelling started, all attempts at conversation were over. Shiro took a deep breath, seeming to try and relax himself. “Keith… you’re playing with fire, here. This isn’t going to end well for either of you. Please… just. End it while you still can. Before it gets out of hand.”

“I can’t do that,” Keith protested, meeting Shiro’s eyes desperately before looking off to the side, trying to reign in his emotions. He took a deep breath, trying to fight the anxiety in his chest at the thought of never seeing Lance, again.

He didn't even realize it until now- how much he relied on his nights with Lance to keep himself sane. He wasn't sure how he managed, before.

He'd grown too comfortable.

Shiro’s expression softened, and he leaned closer, putting a hand- his human one- on Keith’s shoulder.

“Our whole lives... all I ever wanted was for you to be happy,” he spoke, voice soft. “But now... the only thing I want more than that is for you to be _safe.”_

Keith looked at Shiro, his eyes prickling with tears of frustration. His brother held his gaze.

“Please. Promise me you won’t see him, again.”

Fists clenched so tight Keith could feel his knuckles grow sore, Keith gave a stiff nod.

“Promise.”

* * *

It wasn't the first promise between them that had been broken. And Keith knew it definitely wouldn’t be the last.

He waited until everyone was asleep before sneaking out to see Lance, that night. The whole journey there, Keith was battling with himself- wondering what he’d do… if he’d be strong enough to tell Lance that this had to end, or if he’d be weak-willed as always around him, and lose his nerve.

He kept the image of Sendak with a gun to Lance’s head in his mind as he tried to strengthen his resolve.

This was too risky. Too dangerous. Shiro was right, though it killed Keith to admit it.

He’d been putting Lance’s life in danger. But he wouldn’t let himself do that, anymore.

Keith didn’t expect Lance to be awake when he got to his apartment, so he was shocked when he saw a dim light shining from his living room.

He landed silently on the fire escape, and was met with the sight of Lance sitting on his couch, glasses perched on his nose and a laptop on his lap. A glass of wine was sitting next to him on the nightstand, a near-empty bottle next to it.

Keith knocked lightly on the window, and Lance looked up, eyes wide when they met Keith’s.

He was up in a second, laptop abandoned on his couch as he made his way to his window. He pried it open, giving Keith a smile that didn’t touch his eyes as he let him in, closing the window behind them.

“Hey,” he spoke, voice low and soft. “I… I didn’t think you’d be coming tonight,” he admitted, hand smoothing down his wavy, freshly showered hair before they touched his glasses, pulling them off.

That much was evident. Lance was dressed only in a t-shirt and some shorts, looking ready for bed. He emanated exhaustion- eyes underlined with dark bags and body slumped.

So why wasn’t he asleep?

“Sorry,” Keith murmured. He wasn’t sure how to continue- how to say what he desperately didn’t want to say.

Lance seemed to pick up on his inner conflict. His brows knitted together as he looked at Keith worryingly.

“What’s wrong?”

_I can’t see you, anymore._

“Long night,” Keith supplied.

Lance gave Keith an empathetic smile and a nod.

“I feel that. Do you want a drink?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Lance gestured for Keith to sit on the couch as he walked to the kitchen. Keith did, sitting stiffly as he tried to think of how to say what he needed to say.

Unintentionally, Keith’s eyes strayed to Lance’s haphazardly tossed aside laptop. On the screen was a list of some sort….

Keith leaned forward, eyes scanning over what he was seeing.

“All I have is cheap red wine, but it’ll do the job if you--”

Lance froze, glass stiff in his hand as he caught Keith.

Keith didn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed at having been caught snooping through Lance’s computer. He turned to look at him.

“You’re job searching?”

Lance shrunk in on himself, avoiding Keith’s eyes as he set the glass down on the table. He took a seat next to Keith on the couch, gently taking his laptop and closing it.

“Yeah. I, uh… need a change of environment.”

Keith watched Lance closely.

“What’s going on?”

Lance offered a smile, but Keith knew it wasn’t genuine. “It’s nothing, really. No big deal.”

Keith frowned, pinning Lance with his gaze.

“Lance….”

Lance paused, looking at Keith for a moment before looking away.

“Iverson… my boss… he wants me to write about you. Permanently. He’s assigned me to any topic having to do with shedding some light on you.”

Keith paused, eyes wide. “Oh….”

“Yeah. I’ve been… well, sorta distracting him for now. I wrote some reports on crime activity, on the gangs and some information pieces on keeping safe. I even interviewed some people you saved. Wrote some praise about you. Just some filler articles. He’s getting impatient, and… well, I’m kinda running out of time. So I’ve been job searching.”

“You don’t have to do that--”

“Red. I appreciate it, but… I’m not gonna expose you. Not again. This is my choice, and I’m happy with it.”

Keith, however, fixed his face into a stern glare- eyebrows furrowed and mouth screwed into a frown.

“You can’t. You’ve told me… you said you wanted to work for the Daily Journal since you were a kid.”

“Well, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Lance admitted. “I’m fine. Honestly, I am. All I care about… I mean, I only wanted the job so I could help people. I can do that with any news company. The Daily Journal just happens to be the biggest one. But that doesn’t mean it’s my only option. I could be a news reporter. Or an investigative journalist for any other place. I went to a great school, I have references, and experience... I have _options.”_

“I know you do. But what happens when the next place finds out what you’ve been writing on? They’ll just ask the same of you.”

Lance sighed. “I don’t know. I haven't thought that far ahead. I just need to get out of where I am.”

Keith watched Lance- waited for him to meet his eyes. Once he did, he spoke up.

“Is that really what you want?”

Lance searched Keith’s gaze in a desperate manner, as if he were trying to look for the answers in it. He looked pained.

“What I want is for you to be safe,” he whispered.

Keith offered a small smile at that. “You remember what exactly it is I do, right?”

“I know. I _know,_ it’s just… I don’t want to put a giant target on your back. You’ve been doing well at keeping yourself from harm this long, and… I don’t want to be the reason that ends. So… it’s final. I’m doing this.”

“Lance--”

“I don’t want to talk about this, anymore. Please? Can we just… can we just sit here for a bit?”

Keith closed his mouth, flattening his lips into a line before he nodded.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Lance gave him a thankful smile, leaning sideways into the the back cushion as he looked up at Keith. He wrapped his arms around his bare legs, which were drawn up to his chest.

“Thank you,” he spoke, and Keith resisted the urge to lean in closer, or to lay his own head against the cushion so he could watch Lance... could imagine they were lying side by side... could pretend, just for a moment, that they were in any other circumstance than the one they were currently in.

“What for?” Keith asked, voice low.

Lance shrugged, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them heavily. “For being here. I just… I’ve really liked this. Being around you.”

Keith smiled, heart flipping. “Yeah… me too.”

Lance yawned, and Keith, realizing what time it was, spoke up.

“You should get some sleep,” he suggested. When Lance looked ready to protest, Keith continued, “It’s late. You have work, tomorrow.”

Lance frowned, looking away. His eyes flitted around his apartment as he tried to avoid Keith’s gaze. “Yeah… I guess.” He met Keith’s gaze, now. “Will you visit, soon?”

Keith nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Lance smiled, and it touched his eyes for the first time that night.

“Then I’ll see you next time, Red.”

When Keith left Lance’s apartment that night, heart hammering in his chest and a billion contemplations coursing through his mind at the speed of light, one particular thought stuck with him.

_I’m so screwed._

* * *

Lance fiddled with the zipper to his jacket as Hunk pulled his car into a neat parallel park right outside Arus.

They’d been going to Arus since they were in college- it was a bar, diner, and great spot for some karaoke or movie nights featuring the same five films the bar had for their projector. Also, the booze was cheap, which was always a plus.

“I’m glad you’re finally going out with us,” Shay spoke up as they got out the car and walked inside. “It’s been so long since we’ve all done something like this.”

“All thanks to Hunk for using cruel means to force me out,” Lance murmured quiet enough for only Shay to hear. Hunk, however, was a trained snoop, and heard it all regardless.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to suspend all free pastries rights if you weren’t so stubborn. Besides, you’ll thank me for tonight, later.”

Lance quirked a brow in question. “What's that supposed to mean?”

 _“You’ll see,”_ Hunk replied in a sing-song voice. Lance instantly knew that meant nothing but trouble. Through their decades of friendship, Lance knew he had been a terrible influence on his once-angelic but now schemingly-devious best friend.

“Hunk, _what did you--”_

“Pidge! Hey!” Hunk called out to their friend from where she was seated at a table. She waved back, a mischievous glint in her eyes when she met Lance’s own.

Lance quickly found out why.

Pidge had brought her friend from work- the one she and Hunk had tried to set him up with about a month back. Lance couldn’t remember his name- tried to rack his brain for it but came up blank.

Maybe he was too distracted to remember.

Despite the indignation he felt, the trickery of his best friends, and his own pride, Lance couldn’t help but stare at the stranger. Dark, long hair... broad shoulders and lean arms... deep eyes….

He was gorgeous.

If only Lance wasn’t desperately and pathetically head over heels for someone else.

Pidge’s friend followed her gaze and met eyes with Lance.

He froze, growing pale, and Lance didn’t even have a second to process that reaction before Hunk captured his attention, dragging him to the bar and sitting him down on the nearest stool.

“So, don’t get mad. That’s Keith,” he explained. “Pidge’s friend from work. He’s one of the researchers at Altea Labs.”

Lance jumped when Pidge’s voice sounded next to him.

“Single, broody, cute- so pretty much your type.”

Lance frowned, crossing his arms. “Is my love life really so sad that you two felt the need to intervene?”

Pidge and Hunk looked at one another for a second before shrugging and nodding, looking back at Lance.

“Yes,” they said in unison.

Lance rolled his eyes dramatically before he let himself steal another glance at Keith.

He was sitting across from Shay, smiling kindly at her though he looked incredibly uncomfortable- shoulders tense, posture rigid, hands in fists on his lap.

He probably didn’t wanna be in this position as much as Lance.

Wait… did he _know_ Pidge’s intentions?

Lance voiced the question, and Pidge shook her head.

“Nope. He went out with us before, and I just asked him if he wanted to hang again. He said sure.”

Lance glared at Pidge with suspicion. “No mention of me at all?”

“None.”

“Then why does he look crazy tense?”

Pidge looked back at her friend before giving a shrug.

“Not sure. He’s not really the social type. Sort of a loner.”

“A perfect balance for your overly-extroverted ways, buddy,” Hunk teased.

“Ugh. God, I’m gonna need you both to stop before you start planning a wedding.”

Pidge and Hunk exchanged excited glances, as if Lance's remark wasn't sarcasm and instead was an incredible and very-plausible idea. Lance gave an exasperated groan, to which Pidge and Hunk both laughed at before Hunk spoke up.

“He’s cute, though, isn’t he?”

Lance buried his face in his palms. “He’s _gorgeous.”_

“So what’s the problem?”

“Oh, nothing, I just wish my _best friends_ had given me a heads up so I would have had the opportunity to both mentally and physically prepare myself to meet a hot stranger.”

“Well, we’ve got you covered on that one,” Pidge spoke before jerking a thumb to the shelves of alcohol behind her. She smiled impishly. “Liquid courage.”

* * *

It was too late to bolt- Lance had already seen him.

What were the odds? What were the _goddamn_ odds?

Of course this would happen to him. It was only condemningly ironic enough.

When Pidge mentioned going out, Keith thought it’d be with Hunk and Shay. She hadn’t even mentioned another person tagging along. Let alone that that person was _Lance McClain._

He deserved this, probably. This was karma catching up to him.

Shiro would have an aneurism if he could see him, now.

Keith tried to calm himself- there was no reason to panic. Lance didn’t know who he was, and he wouldn’t find out if Keith just kept his composure. If he acted like a paranoid maniac, it would only tip Lance off.

He just had to act normal.

Or, well, as normal as he could be.

When Lance, Hunk, and Pidge joined Keith and Shay at the table, Keith let himself spare a quick glance at Lance.

His heart caught in his throat when Lance took the seat next to him, giving Keith a brief and shy smile

“Hi,” Lance spoke, hesitating for a moment. He searched Keith’s eyes, seeming to look further into him. A look flitted through his features- a sense of familiarity, and Keith wished he could put up a physical barrier against his mind because it felt like Lance was rifling through it.

Blinking, Lance’s falter faded and his smile was back as he reached out a hand. “I’m McLance. Uh, McClain. First name Lance. Last name McClain.”

Keith’s lips quirked into a small smile, and he took Lance’s hand, shaking it.

His fingers were soft against his, and Keith realized this was the first time he’d really _touched_ Lance- really felt him without the barrier of his suit. A spark travelled from his hand up, sending his skin tingling. He wished he wasn't wearing his fingerless gloves to conceal the bruises on his knuckles- wished he could take full advantage of this brief moment of physical contact that he didn't even realize until now he'd been waiting for for so long.

Keith tried to compose himself enough to articulate an introduction more eloquent than Lance's.

“Hey. First name Keith. Last name Kogane,” he answered teasingly.

“Ugh, sorry,” Lance apologized, taking his hand back where it went to land on his neck. “That was so lame. I don’t remember the last time I un-ironically shook someone’s hand.”

Keith smiled wider now, unable to help himself. “It was pretty lame,” he admitted, much to Lance’s apparent embarrassment. “Nice to meet you, Lance.”

Drinks were brought to the table, but Lance's eyes didn't leave Keith's. They searched him, slow in their movement, and Keith's heart leapt up his throat as he tried to break contact- tried to put up the wall that he always did- the one Shiro had him perfect to keep him and his team safe. 

The one that kept out all chances of happiness. Of a normal life.

Of possibilities.

Then Lance smiled, and Keith learned what it was like to melt under a person's gaze, and a foreign thrum tingled through his veins. It wasn't the adrenaline of a battle- or the instinct of survival he'd grown so familiar with. It wasn't combat- wasn't harsh or terrifyingly familiar.

It was... something else. Something new. 

Keith wasn't screwed. He knew that, now. It was a painful realization- one that struck him to his core.

He was totally, and irreversibly fucked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had this chapter done for a while now. It was the art that took me forever since I was in a huge block. You guys can probably tell by how lazy it got. But!!! It's here and im done and h a l l e l u j a h ,,,,,,, 
> 
> expect the next chapter a whole lot sooner!!!! lots of interesting things are going to come into play...... you will learn things... many things........ the plot shall T H I C K E N.... she will be thique
> 
> until next time!
> 
> \---come bother me on my tumblr,,, spacegaykogane.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back!

It was a cloudy, muggy sort of day. The city smog clung to Keith’s clothes like an unwanted feeling, and he knew it would rain, soon. Despite all this, the park was still filled with people who bustled contentedly about. Tourists with cameras, parents playing with their children, couples taking a stroll over the bridge and idling by to watch the bubbling stream, artists selling their merchandise, trucks set up with the regular farmers market produce as they called out deals to whoever walked by. It was a morning filled with life- the city’s people determined to make use of their Sunday, muggy or not.

Made it easier for Keith to blend in.

“He’s here. Coming in on your five.”

Keith turned to glance subtly in the direction Allura had told him. He looked through the crowd until he spotted it- the flash of a purple tattoo on a stringy neck. His fingers flew to his glasses, swiping along the rim to zoom in and enhance what he was seeing with the built in microscope.

“Got him,” Keith confirmed, already on the move. “Making my way over.”

_ “Slowly, _  Keith. Keep your distance,” Shiro warned through Keith’s earpiece.

Keith didn’t reply to that- just took his position at a newsstand near the park fountain, where the Galra gang member, Trugg, was supposedly waiting to meet with Sendak.

If the tip-off they’d gotten from their ally Ulaz and his group (the Blade) was to be trusted, that was. Most days Keith didn’t know whose side that group of supers fell on, or if they fell on any at all.

Brushing the thought from his mind, Keith rifled through some magazines, glancing over just in time to catch Sendak walking up to Trugg, an ever-present scowl twisting his lips.

“I have eyes on Sendak,” Keith murmured, filing through more papers as he resisted the instinct to blend into the shadow of the kiosk. Shiro's voice answered him.

“Approach with caution. Remember, this is purely for intel. Remain hidden.”

“Copy,” Keith stiffly replied before quickly buying the newspaper in his hands. He made his way over to a bench by the fountain, right behind the newsstand Sendak and Trugg were meeting at, his feet protesting every step he put between them- his fists itching to connect with bone.

Keith grudgingly sat down next to an old woman playing Sudoku, and lifted his paper to conceal his face to the best of his ability. He played off scratching at his ear as he spoke, tapping his earpiece to enhance the frequency and gain Shiro’s attention.

“Lock the signal onto them, and set it to record.”

“On it,” Shiro replied.

Static filled Keith’s ears for a moment before Shiro’s voice was replaced with Sendak and Trugg’s. Keith peeked at them from above his newspaper.

“--the big guy’s got our next party on eighth and sixth. Bring the big guns.”

“H?”

“H.”

“Is this about…?”

“It’s en route. Nearly finished. He’s investigating the crash.”

Trugg sneered. “The one at  _your_  place.”

“Hold your tongue. We know what we’re doing. You’ve got your orders, and I’ve got mine.”

Trugg seemed to backtrack for a second, though he didn’t look happy. “Is it true? Nothing taken?”

Sendak gave him a warning look. He glanced around them, and Keith dodged back behind his newspaper. Sendak waited a moment, and Keith’s heart pounded in his chest before the voice finally met his ears. He breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Nothing taken but memories from the night before. Must’ve gotten pretty crazy- nobody can remember a thing.”

“Do you think she brought in the good stuff?”

“It could only have been her.”

Trugg hummed. “Did she bring any friends?”

“One,” Sendak said with a note of something in his voice. “Black darts.”

“Something important probably went down that night. Hope you remember soon.”

“Once we’ve finished the project it’ll come back to me.”

Keith’s grip was strong on his newspaper, the words before him blurred.

Allura. They were talking about Allura and Keith’s rogue mission. They had to be.

_ Lance. _

“Excuse me, dear, but I believe your hand has gone missing.”

Keith whipped his head towards the woman sitting next to him. She had paused from her game, her pencil hovering just over her booklet, eyes fixed on Keith’s right hand, where it was inexplicably lifting up a newspaper despite it not being there.

Keith let go of the newspaper, rubbing his hand on his thigh where it reappeared, feeling a tingling of his powers surging through his veins.

“Strange. Must’ve been a trick of the light,” he murmured, avoiding the woman’s astounded gaze.

_ “Keith,”  _ Allura gasped through his earpiece.

Keith looked back up and towards the gang members. Except someone new had joined them.

Scraggly white hair, long scars starting from the pale orbs of her eyes reaching down to her bony jaw. A cold shock froze Keith to his spot, and he could feel his powers tingling once again- the need to phase and attack.

Haggar.

Visions came to Keith- a purple room, the smell of disinfectant. Rusted red blood staining a medical bed- the feeling of metal cuffs digging into his wrists, chest, ankles. A light glinting off the point of a needle, filled with concoctions that would burn as they rushed through his veins.

An evil cackle that still haunted his dreams.

Then her voice sounded in his ear, and Keith shuddered involuntarily.

“He requests your presence, Sendak.”

Trugg looked nearly sympathetic on Sendak’s behalf. The man in question looked like he’d seen a ghost. He swallowed.

“The regular place?”

“No... it seems he wants a drink.”

Sendak nodded, looking sick to his stomach. He gave a slight bow. “Vrepit sa.”

Then Haggar turned to leave, and Keith sprung into action, dropping his newspaper as he walked into the crowd before him, making a beeline towards her.

“Keith! Fall back!”

Keith ignored the command- the sound of his blood rushing through his ears overtaking Shiro’s voice. Everything before him was in a red haze, and he could feel his skin tingling with power- a torrent of it lying in his gut waiting to be unleashed. He unclenched his fists, a pure kinetic energy tingling out his fingertips.

_ “KEITH!  _ Stand down! That’s an order!”

He was so close- just a few more feet. Keith reached for his knife--

Something barreled into his side, and Keith was thrown off his path. He stumbled for a moment before he regained his balance, and he stood quickly, swiveling to try and find Haggar among the crowd.

She had gone, along with the Galra.

A hand grabbed his wrist, and foreign feelings tingled through him, fuzzying his brain.

Keith whirled to face Allura, his eyes wide with panic, and he didn’t miss the apologetic look in her galaxy-eyes as everything started to fade away around him.

But panic took over, and Keith summoned something within him- the well of power that had been gathering deep down.

He yanked his arm away and pushed.

He couldn’t quite explain what happened next.

It was as if some invisible force had aided him. There was an incredible heat, then everyone immediately around them was thrown to the ground, including Allura.

Her hood fell back, revealing her pointed ears and markings. The people around them slowly started to stir, sitting up and looking at Keith with fear. Then they noticed Allura, and shocked exclamations rose throughout the crowd, a collective fear beginning to rise among them.

Before Keith could even react, Allura stood on her feet, outstretching her arms. Her eyes went white, and a pink aura filled the air- glowing particles floating off of her. Keith felt his body stiffen with the energy around them, his muscles contracting though Allura’s powers avoided his mind.

The people around them stilled- blank looks encompassing their faces. They all gradually rose, standing on their feet. Allura slowly sagged as every last person stood, their eyes unseeing. Then they continued to walk, going about their business just as before as life slowly returned to their eyes, and their conversations began once again. They were all completely oblivious of Allura and Keith, both of whom were on their knees in the crowd.

Then Allura sagged and collapsed, and Keith made it just in time to catch her, drawing her hood over her ears and white hair. Her face was ashen, eyes shut and breath shaky.

He scooped her into his arms and stood up, his own legs weak and quivering underneath him. Looking back only once, Keith left the park.

* * *

Red didn’t come back.

Lance didn’t know what to think, really. At first he’d been worried. He’d thought something had happened to him, or that he was in trouble. But the sightings of his masked companion continued, and Lance felt himself relax, reassuring his nagging mind that Red would visit again soon.

Then days passed, and after over a week of waiting Lance was given no other option but to accept that Red was avoiding him- that their nightly encounters were done.

It stung. Just when Lance felt as though things could be normal again... just when he started to let himself find comfort in Red’s presence, he left Lance behind.

Lance didn’t blame him, not really. What they had been doing had no doubt been risky. A superhero and journalist having regular chats… it must have taken a lot for Red to have put that kind of trust in Lance. Maybe it was too much. Maybe he had to put his privacy first.

Despite these thoughts, Lance couldn’t help but wish he had gotten a goodbye. He couldn’t help the anger he felt at the suddenness of it all. Surely, after a month of nearly daily conversation Lance deserved a goodbye?

Whatever. Lance didn’t want to dwell on it anymore. He had other things to worry about.

So he buried himself in his work, and his job search, and the days slipped by in a blur. Lance hardly left his apartment, other than to go to work or to conduct interviews. He even stopped frequenting Hunk’s cafe as often- being sure to visit at least once a week to assuage his friends’ worries. Hunk and Pidge and Shay seemed to know not to inquire about Lance’s behavior other than with worried glances they exchanged with one another when they thought Lance wasn’t looking.

Even Iverson seemed to back off. He let Lance work on Shadow side articles. It was all really good content, and seemed to shed more light on the superhero in a way that kept his identity and image safe. And the public  _ loved  _ Lance’s articles. He got multiple letters from fans, and hundreds of admirers contacting the Daily Journal to sing their praises. Not to mention the publicity from the famed critics- those who believed the Red Shadow was a menace to the town. Whether the attention was positive or negative, Iverson drank it all up happily enough, and so Lance kept up his regular routine.

The nightmares, naturally, came back. They’d lessened with Red’s visits, though they never completely disappeared.

Now they returned in full force with a vendetta.

Most of the time they featured Lance in an empty city street, late at night… the air would be humid around him, choking him, and then there was the sound of a struggle. Then a pleading yet calm tone would leave his mouth, though the voice was not his own….

_ Please… I have a family. _

Gunshots- one, two, three, four--

Then Lance was facing the barrel of a gun, warmth trickling down his shirt. He’d look down at his uniformed chest- his badge glimmering in the streetlights… blood gushing out of bullet holes.

Concrete met his knees, then hands- the gravel digging into the soft flesh of his palms--

Lance started, realizing where he was.

His laptop glared at him in the dark of his apartment. The harsh glow made him squint, and Lance weakly lifted his head off his dining table, running a tired hand down his face as he took in his surroundings.

His laptop read three in the morning. The only noise around him was the consistent clanking of his column radiator, and the thrum of an occasional car speeding by on the streets outside.

Instinctively, Lance looked to his window.

It was blank- the passing headlights of a truck made shadows shift, and Lance grew hopeful for a second before he scolded himself.

It was time to go to bed.

With remnants of his nightmare still tickling the back of his mind, Lance shut his laptop and got stiffly off his chair, making his way to his bedroom.

He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t check the window one last time.

* * *

Allura stood horribly still in the healing pod of the base’s medical bay. She looked like death- pale, weak, and worn down. Lines of exhaustion formed creases between her brows, and under her eyes.

Keith frowned, and tapped his fingers against his bicep from his seat on the floor in front of the pod. He had his legs drawn up to his chest, and his arms wrapped around himself, but the self-soothing position provided little comfort for his troubled mind.

He gazed hard at the pod before averting his eyes, his frown more insistent now as it pulled at his lips. Allura would crack some joke about Keith getting sneer wrinkles. But no jokes came, because she was hurt and it was Keith’s fault.

It had been Four days. Four days since the park, and there was still no sign of Allura getting any better. 

It was all his fault. Just when he thought he was finally starting to gain some semblance of control… all it took was one person.

Keith’s eyebrows were sore from the harsh furrow they’d no doubt been stuck in, and he tried to loosen his muscles and relax. He took a deep breath, willing away the worm of nausea in his gut.

It was impossible.

Haggar was back.

It had been years since he’d last seen her. Keith thought she was gone for good- lost in the explosion at her lab. He didn’t think he’d ever have to see her again.

How was she back?  Why  was she  here?  What was she after?

What sort of plans were Zarkon and she concocting together?

He’d almost gotten himself caught. Almost gotten Allura exposed. He’d put the entire team in jeopardy, all because he couldn’t control his anger.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

The door to the medical bay whooshed open, interrupting Keith from his thoughts. He tensed before relaxing when he saw it was only Coran.

He smiled softly upon seeing Keith, and seemed to ask permission through his eyes before Keith gave a tight nod and Coran sat next to him. Keith unfurled his legs, letting them cross instead as he leaned forward onto them. His hands were curled into fists, shoulders tense, and he avoided Coran’s kind eyes. They still hadn't talked since Allura went into the pod- other than for brief updates on her health. Nobody talked- Shiro had immediately left to inform the Blade of Haggar's return- a meeting that had drawn on for days and that he only returned from an hour ago. He'd immediately hit the training deck, and Keith had come here to avoid him.

Four days of silence. Keith was waiting for it- he  _wanted_ Coran to blame him for all of this.

He should be furious with Keith. It was his recklessness that had gotten Allura- Coran’s last living relative- into this position.

“How are you, my boy?” Coran asked, and Keith felt his throat tighten.

“Fine.”

It was silent. Keith clenched and unclenched his fists, wishing Coran would just get on with it and blame him- would berate him or tell him he was at fault.

But this was Coran. He’d never do that. So, instead, Keith did it himself.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, eyes downcast, off to the side so he couldn’t see the look on Coran’s face.

“You have nothing to apologize for--”

“Yes. I do. It’s because of me she’s in there. I could have hurt her- could have exposed her. I almost revealed her to the Galra- to the  _world._  If she hadn’t handled the situation and fixed my mistake, she would be….” Keith trailed off, biting down onto his tongue hard enough to make him shut up. He didn’t want to think about it- about what he’d almost let happen.

A hand found its place on Keith’s shoulder, and he tensed before looking over at Coran, eyes wide.

They exchanged a look before Coran spoke.

“I’m sorry you had to cross paths with her again. I can’t imagine what seeing her put you through.”

Keith swallowed hard, feeling like there was a stone lodged in his throat. He averted his gaze again when he felt his eyes burning with unshed tears. Memories came to him once more- desperate eyes, a voice begging him to run. A purple shock, a knife.

Blood. So much blood.

Keith shuddered, then registered he was shaking all over- his hands quaking in his lap. He clenched them, but he couldn’t help it. He was coming down from the numb shock he'd been in the past few days, and the realization was hitting him hard, now.

Haggar was back, and Keith’s family was in danger.

Coran tugged Keith lightly, and he didn’t resist when he was pulled into the older man’s embrace, given a tight hug. Keith sighed shakily into it, trying to control himself.

When Coran pulled away, he had a hand on either of Keith’s arms, looking at him in the most serious way Keith had ever seen him.

“We will find her. And we will gain justice for all she and Zarkon have done.”

Keith gave a tight nod, biting down hard on his lower lip to stop it from quivering.

“Thanks, Coran.”

“Of course,” he replied before giving Keith another smile. They stayed in an amicable silence after that, but Keith knew that Coran hadn’t said all he’d wanted to. So Keith waited, tense, for the remainder of it.

“You can’t quite avoid him forever, can you?” Coran asked, and Keith didn’t have to ask who he was talking about. He frowned, shying away from the older man’s gaze.

“Did he seem…?” he trailed off.

“I’m not really sure. But there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

Keith’s lips flattened into a line, and he gave a tight nod.

“I guess you’re right….”

Coran smiled, maybe sympathetically, and spoke up.

“He’s in the training room.”

* * *

Keith watched Shiro from the observation deck overlooking the training room, nervousness worming itself deep into his stomach.

Shiro sliced his robotic hand clean through a simulator, dropping it to the ground before he crouched, dodging an attack from one that snuck up behind him. He whirled around, punching through the chest of the other, letting out a yell.

Keith didn’t know much about Shiro’s remaining years of captivity. When Haggar had selected them both to be brought back to her private labs on Zarkon’s home planet, Keith had only remained there for one year before Allura and Coran broke him out.

Shiro had been there  _ five. _

He couldn’t imagine what his brother had been through. Didn’t  _ want  _ to imagine it.

He understood why Shiro could be so overbearing. But it didn’t make it any easier seeing him that way, especially when he knew the person Shiro was before Haggar.

Things used to be so different….

And no matter what he did or how hard he tried, Keith couldn’t let go of his past. He couldn’t face the reality he was in here-  _ now. _

It had been holding him back for so long. In a way, he was still Haggar’s prisoner- still hers to manipulate and use as she pleased. Maybe it would always be that way.

Keith was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t even realize Shiro had left the training room until he looked back out and saw the room was empty.

“Keith.”

Keith whirled around in shock, phasing into the shadows for a moment before he saw his brother, who had both his arms raised with his palms out.

“It’s just me,” he assured, voice gentle.

When the adrenaline left Keith’s body, he realized his hands were in front of his chest, balled into fists. He uncurled and lowered them to his sides slowly.

“Shiro…” Keith began, and he looked away, down at Shiro’s feet. A lump formed in his throat, barring him from the apology he thought he had ready.

“What you did…” Shiro started, voice dangerously low, “that was way out of line.”

Keith shrunk in on himself, hands clenched at his sides as he resisted the urge to close his eyes and pretend to be somewhere else.

“Not only that, but it was  _ idiotic--  _ charging at two Galra and Haggar in a public place with all those witnesses, all those people that could have been hurt! God, Keith,  _ you  _ could have been hurt!”

Before Keith could even reply, arms pulled him into a hug. He tensed, shocked.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” Shiro murmured, and Keith felt rather than heard the hurt and worry in it. It took a moment before Keith hugged Shiro back, burying his face in his brother’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, and Shiro’s arms grew tighter.

“I swear, Keith, if you  _ ever  _ do something that stupid again I’m gonna lose my mind,” Shiro spoke before pulling away and looking down at his brother. “I understand what you must have gone through when you saw her.  _ Trust me,  _ I do. But this isn’t something you need to take on by yourself. You have all of us, and we’re going to do this together. The right way. Don’t let yourself be another one of Haggar’s casualties.”

Clenching his jaw so as to stop the shake he felt in his throat, Keith gave a stiff nod.

“Alright.”

“From now on we’re in this together. No more rogue stake outs, and no more taking on Galra on your own. Now that we know Haggar’s in the mix… we gotta be prepared and stick together.”

Keith nodded once more, looking away sheepishly before meeting Shiro’s eyes. “I know… you’re right.”

Shiro smiled before faltering, giving Keith a concerned look.

“Look… I know it’s been a rough past month for you,” Keith stiffened, and Shiro rushed to finish, giving him a look telling him to wait. “I just… I want to apologize for the call I had to make. But I appreciate you seeing it through. It means a lot, and I know it couldn’t have been easy on you….”

Keith frowned, feeling all-too aware of himself as he avoided Shiro’s eyes. “The team comes first,” he replied robotically, hoping Shiro would take it.

“Still. With everything you’ve done… everything you’ve accomplished. I don’t say this enough, but I’m really proud of you.”

A smile found Keith, and he found himself flushing under the praise. “Thanks.”

Shiro smiled back. Then he put a hand on Keith’s shoulder.

“You  _ will  _ get your happy ending, Keith. I know with everything happening right now that it doesn’t seem like it. But all this- everything we’re working towards is so that we and everybody around us- everybody Zarkon has hurt- can live in peace.”

“Yeah… I know,” Keith replied, and he tried to imagine it- tried to imagine himself ten years from now, living a normal life…. He couldn’t help the image that came to him- the feeling of waking up in a sun-soaked room to tousled brown hair and sleepy blue eyes that smiled at him… the warm stride of fingers on his cheek. A low, sleep-gruff voice that greeted him with a good morning.

It seemed impossible- like a far-fetched dream.

Shiro seemed to read Keith’s mind.

“And who knows,” he teased, “maybe a certain cute reporter will be part of that future.”

Keith could feel himself flush from head to toe. Nevertheless, he crossed his arms and frowned.

“Who said he was cute?”

Shiro rolled his eyes, but not unkindly. A smile was pulling at his lips.

“Allura told me about your description of him. She didn’t spare any details concerning the look on your face,” he laughed, then spoke up again when a no-doubt livid look came across Keith’s face. “Don’t be too mad at her. She… well, she told me to try and convince me… to let you see him.”

The air grew tense- awkward with things left unsaid.

“You were right. You made the right call,” Keith finally murmured. “I was putting him in danger. Every interaction… he’s already got a target on his back. I don’t need to bring it into the light.”

Shiro smiled softly, and the action hit Keith so hard he felt like he’d gone back in time- back to when Shiro was capable of those smiles at any given moment.

It hurt.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he assured. “Once we take down Zarkon and Haggar we will be leaving behind a world safe enough for him  _ and  _ you. Once that happens I fully expect you to take your shot.”

Keith couldn’t help it- the little sliver of hope that wormed itself into his chest at the promise. He smiled.

“Thanks, Shiro.”

“Of course,” Shiro replied, then his face instantly shifted, going straight back to business, “Now, about the code Sendak gave Trugg. I was going over the transcript with Ulaz and we think we know where their next--”

“Eighth and sixth. Eighth street from the harbor, six blocks down to the right. The old museum, most likely. I tried six to the left, but the only thing there is a neighborhood. I asked Coran to post surveillance there tonight just in case the museum doesn’t check out. He should be contacting the Blade right now.”

Shiro blinked, impressed. “When did you manage to do all that?”

Keith blushed, shrugging impassively. “I was trying to keep myself busy,” he murmured.

It grew silent- both of them knowing the deeper meaning behind the statement. Keith could almost hear the steady, empty hum of the medical room- the occasional puff of cold air releasing into Allura’s healing pod.

“I’ll go with you,” Shiro spoke up, shocking Keith who snapped his head up to look at him, eyes wide. “Remember what I said? We’re sticking together from now on. We’re stronger that way.”

Keith managed a smile before he gave his brother a nod.

Maybe Shiro needed to keep busy, too.

* * *

Lance drummed his fingers against his thigh, staring out the rain streaked windows of Hunk’s cafe. He glanced at his phone, checking the time.

He was supposed to meet with a Ms. Song at two o’clock to log her claimed encounter with The Shadow.

She was ten minutes late.

Maybe she wouldn’t show. It had seemed like a false report anyways- one of the many crazies that contacted Lance on a day to day basis. He wasn’t even sure he wanted Song to show up at all.

Desperation won, though. Lance would take anything he could get on sightings of Red.

He just needed to know he was safe. If he couldn’t be a part of the vigilante’s life anymore, the least he could do was make sure the guy was still alive and kicking.

There  _was_  something interesting about Ms. Song, Lance had to admit. Something that had caught his attention in the email she’d sent him.

It was her description of Red. Lance knew there was more to the story, but she had refused to disclose it through email, insisting on a face-to-face meeting.

So here Lance was, sitting at Hunk’s cafe, waiting on his next desperate shred of hope towards Red’s safety.

Iverson had given Lance all the time he needed when he mentioned he had to leave for an interview pertaining to The Red Shadow. Excitement had shone in Iverson’s beady eyes, and Lance prayed it wouldn’t end up all being for naught.

He was seriously lacking on subjects to continue writing on. Also, he didn’t want to keep writing about Red- it certainly wasn’t helping him to move on.

Judging the fact that Lance had now been waiting fifteen minutes for a possible nut case, that much was clear.

He would give her five more minutes.

Lance swirled his spoon through his half full latte. It had gone cold, and Lance didn’t intend on drinking it, but his constant drumming on his thigh was creating a sore bruise, so he needed to occupy himself some other way. And the clinking of the metal spoon against the ceramic inner walls of his cup was soothing, in a way.

_ Clink, clink, clink, clink-- _

Just when Hunk shot him an exasperated look from over at the counter, opening his mouth to say something, the cafe doors opened, and Lance glanced over at them for the twentieth time since arriving.

It was an old lady with white hair and a gentle face. She scanned the small crowd of the cafe before her gaze landed on Lance. Determination and familiarity flashed through her eyes, and she strode over to him with such purpose that Lance felt encapsulated within her energy.

His fingers paused around his spoon, he let it fall with one last  _ clink  _ into his cup before he stood and walked around the table to greet her.

“Ms. Song?” he asked, reaching out a hand towards her when she nodded in affirmation. She took his hand, and though she was short and frail looking, her grip was strong.

“Yes. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” she replied, voice clear, and Lance got a hopeful feeling in his chest. She seemed all there- more reliable than his other interviewees.

“It’s no problem at all,” he replied before pulling out a seat for her, and gesturing for her to sit down. Once she did, he returned to his own seat, pulled out his pen and some paper, and clicked the ballpoint. Then he picked up his phone and opened up the voice recording app.

“Do you mind if I record this?” When she gave a consenting nod, Lance began the recording, setting his phone down between them. “So you wanted to talk to me about a possible super sighting?” he began, wary with how he phrased the igniting phrase.

Ms. Song nodded. “Yes. The Red Shadow,” she affirmed. “I wasn’t sure at first… then I did my research. I came across your articles, and your descriptions of him… they closely align to what I saw.”

Lance tried to school his face into a neutral expression. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. “Continue,” he urged.

Song leaned forward, hands moving from where they were clutched at the purse sat on her lap to instead grasp at the table. She met Lance’s eyes with her own stern gaze.

“It was at the park. I was sitting on a bench when I was joined by this peculiar gentleman--”

Lance couldn’t help but interrupt.

“Was this in daylight?”

“Yes.”

Lance blinked, shocked. “The Shadow has not been spotted in daylight before.”

Song shook her head. “It was not his alter ego I witnessed. It was his true identity.”

Lance felt his heart smack against his chest, and he tried to calm it. He opened his mouth to speak before closing it, realizing his throat had gone dry. He cleared it before speaking again.

“Please continue.”

“He had dark hair. Long, probably to his shoulders, but I’m not sure since it was tied up. He wore glasses… his eyes were dark, but not brown… a strange color. I’d say it was purple, but Indigo sounds more right… a deep and bizarre color. He didn’t initially stand out in any way to me… I only noticed all this when…” she trailed off and huffed, looking annoyed and hesitant. She glanced at Lance, who nodded her on. “You must not laugh, because I know how this might sound. But I know what I saw.”

Lance leaned forward, and gave a smile that he hoped was reassuring. He wasn’t sure how effective it was, because his heart was currently stuck in his throat. It probably looked more like a grimace.

_ Long dark hair. Indigo eyes. _

“Trust me. I’ve probably seen stranger. Doubting the strange is just ignorance.”

Song waited a moment longer, searching Lance’s eyes before she gave a nod, a smile stretching her lips just slightly. She seemed satisfied with his answer, and a second later her face resumed its earlier no-nonsense disposition.

“I know what I saw… he was holding a newspaper… half in front of his face, like he was hiding. His right hand was close to my own face, so that’s the only reason I noticed… it… faded away. Just disappeared. One moment it was there, holding the newspaper. And the next… it was just  _ gone.  _ I thought I was surely imagining it, but the more I looked and looked for it the more I realized the truth of my situation. I brought it up to him, and he looked at his hand and seemed shocked, but only for a moment. He lowered his arm, brushed his invisible hand against his leg, and it suddenly reappeared. He said it was a trick of the lighting. But I know what I saw… I know. I’m not crazy.”

Lance was at the edge of his seat. “What happened to him?”

“This is the strange part. He got up suddenly and walked into the park crowd. Then… for some reason, everything gets fuzzy in my memory. The next thing I remember, a whole different set of people are in front of me, and he is nowhere to be found. I remember a commotion… but only barely. I can’t remember a thing about it, or how it occurred. I know how this sounds… but I swear to you I’m quite sane.”

“I believe you,” Lance answered, breathless. He snapped back to reality, realizing he’d hardly written a thing. He’d have to comb through the audio later.

“Ms. Song, thank you for sharing this with me. Would you like me to quote you--”

“No. I do not want my name attached to this. Whatever is going on… I must admit, it scares me. However, I’m sure you’ll know the right thing to do. There’s something about you, Mr. McClain… something in your eyes. I can trust you, yes?”

Lance nodded. “Yes. I promise.”

Ms. Song nodded. “Then that’s that.” She stood up, taking her bag in her hands and slinging it over her forearm. Lance stood up as well, walking around the table once more and reaching forward to shake her hand one last time. As they did, Song held on tight, placing her other hand over Lance’s and looking him in the eyes.

“Good luck to you, and please… stay safe.”

Lance could only manage a nod, and a weak, “I will.”

His hand slipped from her grasp, and he watched her form as it retreated through the cafe doors, out into the cold grey afternoon.

* * *

Keith sighed, his breath condensing before him in the frigid night. He looked up through the cracked skylight of the museum, eyes finding the moon. It was full, and its waxen face shone down on Keith in a way that calmed him.

His eyes fluttered half closed, and his thoughts were dragged from him….

_ An arm brushed against his own as a slender finger pointed to the sky. _

_ “That’s Cassiopeia. You can tell because it’s sorta shaped like a ‘w’. You can also tell because that star- that one over there,” Lance leaned even closer as he tried to point it out to Keith. “See it?” Keith nodded, holding his breath as he hoped Lance wouldn’t move away. Smiling, Lance continued, “That’s the brightest star in Cassiopeia, Schedar.” _

_ Lance’s finger traced over the ‘w’ shape, pointing out five twinkling stars before landing on one particular one. Keith took to looking at him- focusing on those excited, knowledgeable blue eyes. They looked like oceans in the night… deep, dark…. _

_ Lance sighed before he let his back rest against the railing to the fire escape. In doing so, his shoulder leaned heavily against Keith’s. _

_ “I wish we weren’t in the city… there are only so many constellations you can find around here… I don’t remember the last time I left this place.” _

_ Keith allowed himself to relax against Lance’s touch. He kept his arms wound tightly around himself, and they itched to reach out and touch Lance- to trace his face… to hold him. He never wanted for the feeling of someone’s skin against his own so badly, before. _

_ He swallowed hard, forcing himself to shake away the thought. “How did you learn about constellations?” _

_ Lance smiled sadly, and there was something behind his eyes. Something Keith couldn’t read, but his gut could understand. _

_ “A book,” Lance replied. “I got a book on constellations for my eleventh birthday.” _

_ Before Keith could ask him to elaborate, Lance was changing the subject, pointing out another set of stars. _

_ “Look! The Big Dipper. You can always count on seeing that one…” a smile graced Lance’s face, then his eyes averted to a different point in the sky, “the moon is full, tonight. It’s beautiful.” _

_ Keith forced his eyes away from Lance, focusing on the moon that hung over the both of them. “Yeah….” he agreed. “It is.” They watched it for a while in an amicable silence. Lance leaned heavier against him, and Keith could hear his breathing slow down and deepen, a sign of his exhaustion. Keith didn’t know what time it was- didn’t know how long he’d been here. He chanced a glance at Lance, and sure enough his eyelids were heavy with sleep. _

_ “You should go to bed.” _

_ Lance shook his head. _

_ “Not yet. Can we… just watch the moon a bit more? Just a few more minutes?” _

_ Keith found himself smiling. He gave a nod. _

_ “Sure.” _

Shiro’s voice jerked Keith back to the present.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked, giving an apologetic look when Keith frowned at him. “Sorry… you looked deep in thought. Anything you wanna…?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Shiro….”

“Positive?”

_ “Shiro.” _

“Alright, alright.”

Shiro shifted from his spot perched next to Keith. He seemed impatient.

“Been a while since you’ve done surveillance,” Keith pointed out.

“Yeah, I guess it has. How do you do this every night?”

Keith shrugged, eyes scanning the lobby of the aquarium disinterestedly. “It’s not so bad.”

“Hey, and I’m allowed to say this because I’m your brother: you need a hobby. This is just…  _ every  _ night?”

“It’s really not that bad, you’re just getting old and your joints get tired faster.”

“That was uncalled for.”

Keith smiled, settling into the quiet that descended upon them once more.

He actually found that he didn’t mind the company. It made this all a lot… nicer, if he was being honest. He felt less angry- less on edge. Shiro’s presence calmed him and brought him rational thoughts.

Maybe that could be blamed for what he said next.

“So… earlier. Were you serious? About… about starting a normal life after Zarkon?”

Shiro stiffened, and Keith avoided meeting his eyes.

“Yes… I think we’ve been doing this long enough, don’t you?”

Keith nodded, then chanced a glance at his brother.

“We’d drop it all?”

Shiro shrugged. “I don’t know… it feels good to help people. It’s given me some sort of purpose. A reason for everything Zarkon and Haggar did to me. To us.”

Keith’s eyes were downcast, and he felt bile rise up in his throat.

“There are other ways for you to be happy, you know.”

Shiro tensed, already knowing where Keith was heading with the conversation.

“Keith….”

“You haven’t even told him you’re alive. That you’re back.”

“It’s been seven years--”

“Why does that matter?” Keith continued, frustrated. “He was your husband, Shiro.”

“I don’t want to hurt him again,” Shiro bit out, silencing Keith from further comments. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

Keith was quiet for a few more moments, letting the tension melt away before he spoke again.

“If you don’t think he’d miss you and forgive you for being gone, then you’re crazy,” Keith murmured, and he watched Shiro carefully- the downward shift of his eyes and the guilt in them. Then he spoke, again, “He’d probably say ‘I told you so’, and bring it up relentlessly the rest of your life, though.”

At that, Shiro laughed. A fond smile was on his face before it twisted into a contemplative one.

“Yeah, he probably would.”

Keith smiled.

“If I gotta go be normal after all this is over, then so do you,” Keith affirmed, giving his brother a no-nonsense look. “We’ve been doing this long enough,” he added when the older man sighed.

“Yeah… you’re right. I’ll contact him… when… when I know it’s safe.”

“I’ll hold you up to that.”

Shiro smiled at that. “I know you will.”

Silence fell between them once more. After a few moments, Shiro spoke up.

“You can rest. I’ll keep watch.”

“No. I want to stay alert,” Keith protested.

“Don’t you have work tomorrow?” Shiro sighed, and Keith shrugged.

“Yeah. So?” He met his brother’s gaze. Shiro was frowning.

“So you need your rest.”

“Fine. You go first, though.”

Shiro gave Keith a look. “One hour. Then it’s your turn.”

“Sure.”

“Keith….”

“Yeah, yeah, one hour.”

Shiro gave his brother one last skeptical look before leaning against the nearest beam. Keith could feel his eyes on him before it trickled away and was replaced with the sound of light breathing.

He looked up to the moon, and waited out the night.

* * *

It was a little sad that Lance hadn’t given up this venture, yet.

A week after Red stopped visiting, once Lance was sure the sightings of the vigilante had continued, he had gone on his own to search for him. It was a desperate and sad attempt, but he really couldn’t help it. He was worried- and he wanted to know what had gone wrong.

What  _ he  _ had done wrong.

So he staked out bars- bad parts of town, alleyways, even the docks.

He knew it was stupid. He knew he was risking his life- the one that Red had given back to him the first night he saw him.

Part of him hoped, though, that if his life were in danger again Red would step in. Then Lance would be able to confront him.

It was a stupid idea. A very  _ very  _ stupid idea.

But it was worth a shot.

So that’s how Lance found himself in skeezy area after skeezy area. At the moment it was the rundown bar Rolo had been to, Vrepit Sa. Lance had met up with a lead there- someone who claimed to have seen someone else being saved by a mysterious hooded figure.

_ “I’m telling you, man,” the guy insisted, leaning forward as his wide blue eyes met Lance’s, “I saw The Shadow. But it wasn’t a dude like everyone's been saying. It was a chick- she had white hair and a pink mask, and these glowy powers--” _

_ “That’s,” Lance began before he bit his tongue and held himself back. He took a deep breath, and lifted up his drink, taking a swig. He moved his gaze back to the man- barely even a man… he was a kid, maybe a couple years younger than Lance. _

_ Lance tried not to look too tired as he replied. _

_ “Thank you for the report. Are you alright with being named?” _

_ “Yeah! Totally, dude, that’d be cool.” _

_ “Alright. I’ll email you if I have any further questions. Thank you for your time.” _

Lance downed the last of his drink, and set it down. His mind was pleasantly fuzzy… body fatigued. He looked down at his phone to check the time.

Midnight. Probably time to head home.

Lance sighed before getting up from his table, heading over to the bar to settle his tab. As he waited, he looked around.

There was a man sitting at a table in the far corner, half concealed by a group of people throwing darts. Lance caught his eye, but the man quickly looked away. The crowd shifted, blocking Lance’s view slightly, but he lingered on what he could see of the man, taking him in.

A white shock of hair, darker strands peppered among it… age lines on his face… a ragged coat.

And something else interesting… a tattoo of some sort on his wrist. Lance was too far away to see it.

As if he could read Lance’s mind, the man tugged his sleeve over his wrist, and took a long draw from his drink.

Looking away, Lance collected his card and walked out, trying to shake his mind of the strange encounter.

The night was cold, and the frigid air bit at Lance’s fingers. He shoved his hands deep into his coat, digging his face into his collar to warm himself to the best of his ability. It was only a five minute walk to the subway. Then he could catch the late train home.

He arrived at the subway only to find it empty- a small group of people boarding the south train the moment Lance walked in, leaving him on his own. He sighed, feeling the alcohol weighing down his limbs and making his brain go fuzzy. The next train would be thirty minutes… maybe he could text Hunk… just to see if he was awake and willing to give Lance a ride.

Just as he was about to pull out his phone, a hand gripped his shoulder and something sharp pressed into his side- right beneath his rib cage.

Lance froze.

“Don’t make a sound,” a smooth voice commanded. Lance gave a very shallow nod in affirmation. The voice prodded further, “Show me your hands… good. Follow me.”

Lance was tugged off to the side, away from security cameras and into the train tunnel. It was dark- only a few flickering neon lights illuminating the path the man pushed him through.

A good few paces into the dark tunnel, Lance was turned around and shoved against the ceramic wall, his back meeting it with a sharp  _ thwump!,  _ sending the air right out his lungs.

The man had a hood up, a shadow concealing most of his features. But Lance was less concerned with his face and more focused on the knife that went to his neck now, pressing hard enough against the skin there to draw blood.

“Give me your wallet… any funny business, and you’re done.”

Lance gave another shallow nod, conscious of the blade at his neck, and reached into his pocket with a shaking hand. He fumbled around for his wallet before pulling it out, and handing it over. The man took it, flipping it open.

His eyes scanned it quickly, and he suddenly blanched. What Lance could see of his expression looked shocked.

“You’re…” he looked at Lance, and the knife drew back slightly. His eyes firmed and met Lance’s. “You write about the Shadow.”

"Yes," Lance replied, voice hoarse.

"Have you seen him in person? Do you know him?"

Lance tried to steady his own gaze, wondering what he should say. “I used to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hesitation again. Lance decided he wasn't in the position to refuse information. “It’s been a month since our last encounter. I’m… I’m trying to find out what happened to him,” Lance admitted. Part of him admonished himself for revealing so much to this hostile stranger.

Another part tingled with a sense that he was being handed a new lead.

The stranger hesitated, seeming to go through an internal conflict. Then he met Lance’s gaze again, and spoke up.

"Do you think you could get in contact with him?"

It was silent for a moment.

"I don't know," Lance replied honestly. The man looked irritated, but after a moment of contemplation he relaxed.

“Meet me at Blue on fifth. This Saturday. Find Leo and tell him you're looking for J.T. You got that?”

Lance nodded. “Yeah, got it.”

The man looked at Lance skeptically, then fished through his wallet, pulling out--

Lance moved forward in protest as the man held the photo in his hands. It was a small polaroid- old and worn with age. Lance reached out before the knife was back at his throat. He shouldn’t have reacted, because it only affirmed the man’s actions. He scanned Lance’s face, seeming satisfied before he pocketed the photo.

“You’ll get that back when you meet me. If you don’t- if you’re late or you bring anyone else, I’ll burn it. Then I’ll find you myself, and you’ll lose more than just a photo. You understand?”

Lance glared for a moment, rage sparking like a fire in his chest. He gave a stiff nod.

“Fine.”

The knife withdrew, though the man still held it in his hand- a threat… protection. Lance’s eyes went to the knife, then he noticed something else:

A tattoo on the man’s right wrist- a string of random numbers and letters.

_ RS17-AL. _

The tattoo burned itself into Lance’s memory. He quickly looked away from it, not wanting to give away his discovery.

It was the guy from the bar.

Lance’s realization was interrupted by the man speaking up.

“Wait three minutes before leaving,” he demanded. Lance gave a stubborn nod, and then the man slinked away.

Feeling his knees go to jelly, Lance slid down the wall, sitting on the disgusting urine-smelling floors of the subway. He drew in and exhaled deep breaths, trying to regain his calm.

After a few minutes had passed, Lance picked up his wallet, stuffed it in his pocket, and left the tunnel to wait back at the platform.

It was less empty now- a small group of people waited for the train, giving Lance distasteful looks as he emerged, swaying, from the dark tunnel. He ignored their gazes, however, focused only on the tattoo on the stranger’s wrist ingrained in his memory.

_ RS17-AL. _

Whatever it meant- whatever secrets laid in the code- Lance would find it out. One thing was for certain: he was over waiting for Red to come back to him. He’d find him, himself, and along the way he'd unravel the whole mess of secrets that came with Red and the Galra.

After all, he now had his first clue.

* * *

“You don’t have lunch plans, right?”

Keith started, looking up from his paperwork to meet eyes with Pidge. He’d been dozing off at his desk, exhausted from Shiro and his all-nighter staking out Sendak's tip off. It turned out to be a dud- there had been no sign of Zarkon anywhere. Shiro had suggested they go back home three hours in, but Keith refused and Shiro knew better than to argue against him.

Maybe they both didn’t want to go back and face Allura staying uncharacteristically still in a healing pod.

Whatever the reason, they stayed there until daybreak came along- their bones aching and muscles stiff as they begrudgingly made their way back home.

She was still in the healing pod when Keith left for work. Shiro promised to update Keith on any changes, and it was with a bitter taste in his mouth and a feeling of failure that Keith made his way to the labs.

“Hello? Earth to Keith--”

Keith blinked, remembering where he was as he registered Pidge standing before him, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Huh?” he asked intelligently.

Pidge sighed. “Do you have lunch plans?” she repeated, slower this time.

Keith gave Pidge a blank look before glancing over at his pitiful cyran-wrapped commissary sandwich that sat mockingly on his desk.

“Uhh.”

Pidge smiled.

“I’m going to meet with Lance. We sometimes have lunch at Hunk’s cafe. Wanna come with? There’s probably a free pastry in it for you.”

Keith’s heart leapt up his throat at the thought of seeing Lance, again. It’d been more than four weeks since they’d all met up at the bar. Since then, “Red” had steered clear of any interaction with the reporter.

It was for Lance’s safety. That was what Keith told himself.

He tried not to seem too desperate or interested, schooling his posture into a casual one.

“Yeah. Sure- uh. Now?”

Pidge seemed to see right through him. Her smile turned teasing.

“Right this way, eager beaver.”

* * *

Lance looked… not great. Objectively, that was.

When Pidge led Keith into the small red brick building of the cafe- wedged between an antique store and an empty storefront with multiple old and ripped signs of what it was to be used for- Keith spotted him out right away.

He was at a table by the window, hunched over some papers in his hand- his other hand typing furiously away at his laptop. He had on his glasses, his hair was messy, and his eyes were underlined with dark circles and bags. His tanned skin seemed lackluster- washed out in a saddening way, though maybe that was just due to the grey lighting that bathed Lance from the giant window he sat next to.

Lance tossed the papers onto the table, letting out a rough sigh and digging his fingers through his hair as he glared at the edge of the table. His eyebrows were furrowed- he seemed to be thinking deeply about something. It hardened his face in a way that Keith hated to see. He almost wanted to smooth away the harsh lines around his eyes and mouth- to bring peace back to his features again.

He looked terrible, really. Keith knew that. But, also taking into consideration that Keith hadn’t seen the reporter in a month, he couldn’t help but find the sight before him as amazingly beautiful, regardless.

Pidge led them to the table, and proceeded to shove the mess of Lance’s work over to make room for her and Keith. This was met with a sharp, “Hey!  _ Pidge--”  _ from Lance before he paused, taking in the sight of Keith. He grew sheepish, then, and seemed slightly grumpy- gathering his things and moving it over. “You could’ve just told me to move,” he complained to his friend. She rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, Lance, do you ever stop working? Take a break, dude.” She reached over to grab his still-full mug of coffee, and took a sip. “This is cold. How long have you been here?”

Lance, seeming self conscious now, glanced at his phone. “About two hours,” he murmured.

Pidge seemed to have a lot to say about that, but Keith could see her physically restrain herself, placing an encouraging smile on her face instead. “Lance, you remember Keith, right?”

Lance finally met eyes with Keith, then. He gave him a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

“Yeah, hi. How’ve you been?”

The stilted way Lance spoke to him hit something in Keith. He felt uneasy- overexposed and guilty.

“I… I’ve been good. How are you?”

“Fine.  _ Busy,” _  he emphasized with a look at Pidge. She gave him an angry look, and Keith could barely detect the motion of her kicking at Lance’s shin from underneath the table.

Luckily, Keith didn’t have to come up with an answer to that, because Hunk walked up and greeted them all.

“Keith! It’s good to see you, buddy.”

Keith smiled. “Hey, Hunk.”

Hunk put a hand on his hip, surveying his friends. “Can I get you guys anything?”

Keith glanced at Lance, who had continued typing. An uneasy feeling wormed in his gut at the intensity in his expression.

Pidge had listed off her order, and Keith didn’t realize all eyes were on him until Hunk let out a hesitant, “...Keith?”

Keith snapped back to reality, and he gave Pidge and Hunk apologetic glances before shyly mumbling.

“Uh, actually, can I just get a coffee? To go? Dark roast, please. I gotta go get some work done.”

Hunk frowned and Pidge seemed to want to protest. “You sure?" he asked. "We’ve got lots of food.”

Keith gave him a smile. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he insisted before getting up to walk with Hunk to the counter. He paid Shay, who was at the register, and couldn’t help but pick up on Pidge’s voice.

“Why are you being such an asshole?” She whispered at Lance.

“I’m not.”

_ “Ugh!  _ Honestly, Lance, I don’t know what’s gotten into you but you need to either let us in so we can help, or get over it. You’re being the worst.”

“Nothing’s gotten into me. I’m just busy. You know Iverson’s been on my ass, and I… I’m just… I’m  _ trying.” _

That kicked Keith in the gut.

He took the coffee that was handed to him before fishing through his pocket, pulling out a couple bucks for the tip jar. Then he booted out of there, the desperate and broken tone of Lance’s voice playing on repeat in his head.

* * *

Keith didn’t go back to work. Instead he hightailed it home, hoping to let out some frustrations on a few simulators before passing the fuck out for the remainder of the day.

It wasn’t home. Not really. Home was in Arizona— the small farmhouse with the horses and the chickens and sheep. Where Adam possibly waited for Shiro and Keith to return.

It wasn’t home. But it was the closest thing possible, right now. An unassuming concrete building- sandwiched in by two abandoned buildings that used to be old factories. It was over five floors of labs, training decks, medical rooms, bedrooms, and more, and it all belonged to Keith and his “family”.

Coran put it all together on his own, back when he and Allura woke up. Back when Keith tried desperately to go back to space.

He remembered abandoning them when they refused to aid in his suicide mission. He remembered squatting in empty buildings, living on the streets and retracing his steps for a year as he tried to formulate his plan to get Shiro back.

When he first stepped foot in this building, it was with every bit of protest in his being. Now he's come to think of it as a safe place… not really home, but not  _ not  _ home.

Keith sighed as he unlocked the front door and stepped in. He beelined to the lounge, which he would then cut through to make his way to the training deck.

He didn’t get there.

The moment he stepped into the lounge he was greeted with the sight of Allura sitting on the couch, back against the armrest, a hot mug of what Keith guessed was one of Coran’s gross Altean medicinal drinks. Shiro and Coran stood by her side, and they all looked at Keith in surprise.

Shock coursed through him, and he barely registered himself gasping Alluras name before quickly making his way over. He paused for a moment, then looked accusingly at Shiro.

“You said you’d text when she woke up,” he snapped.

Allura answered for him.

“I just woke up,” she assured, tone gentle. Keith could detect the weariness in it. Her hands, which held the mug, were shaking as she put it on the nearest table.

Guilt surged through Keith, and he swallowed hard, wanting to speak up- to apologize and ask Allura how she felt, and then apologize again and again. But he choked on his words.

Then Allura smiled at him, and this aching relief flooded through him, loosening his stiffened limbs and allowing him to collapse next to her onto the couch.

He looked at her for a second longer, then reached forward and pulled her into a hug.

Allura immediately returned it, holding Keith tight, and he exhaled.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, not recognizing the broken sound of his own voice.

“I know,” Allura replied, and a hand went to cradle the back of Keith’s head. He hugged her tighter, burying his face in her wild mess of white hair.

She sent him a trickle of soothing emotions, and Keith immediately opened himself up to it- accepted the weak push- Alluras attempt to reach out.

After a moment he pulled away, meeting her eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Just tired."

"She just needs to rest,” Coran spoke up.

Keith nodded, and it grew silent. He didn’t know what to say- had to hold back the impulse to apologize a thousand more times.

Allura took hold of the conversation.

“You’ve discovered a new power,” she spoke, her eyes containing a glint of something… of excitement.

“I’m not sure, yet,” Keith murmured, uncomfortable with the attention. “I don’t know what happened.”

“You used some kind of force field… you were able to banish me from your mind. It was quite a powerful energy-  _physical_ _,_ even. It burned me..." Allura observed, and when Keith moved in to apologize, she waved her hand, "No, it was... interesting. It seemed to affect everyone around us... how did you do it?”

“I don’t know how I did it. I don’t think I can control it.”

“So we’ll find out what it is, and help you,” Shiro finally spoke up. Keith looked to him, startled. “Whatever this is… it’s important. We need to understand it and make sure you can use it without hurting yourself or….”

He didn’t need to finish. Keith’s new power was dangerous- something volatile and unhinged, which didn’t bode well for the already impulsive personality Keith knew he harbored.

They were afraid of him.

He could feel his defenses prickle, and he wanted to oppose- to insist he could find a way to keep it under control on his own.

Then he caught the looks on Shiro and Allura’s faces, and he slowed down. They weren’t afraid of him. They were worried for him.

Keith took a deep breath.

“Alright. What should we do?”

* * *

They called in Ulaz and the Blade, not sure where else to turn. Shiro seemed confident in entrusting this matter to the Blade, seeing as they had plenty of experience with bizarre powers, especially related to Galran experimentation.

The Blade was a group of Galra supers. They were good guys, though, and had been fighting against Zarkon since his ascension to the throne ten thousand years ago. The Blade knew a lot about Zarkon and Haggar, and their genetic experimentation. They were Keith's best bet if he wanted to better understand what was happening with his powers. Keith felt uncomfortable having so many people in on this uncertainty, but he tried to assuage himself.

Ulaz and his team were the reason Keith and his newfound family were here and alive. He could trust them. They could help.

When Shiro and Keith contacted Ulaz with news of Keith's powers that evening, Ulaz didn't seem phased at all by the information. He simply nodded, asked Keith to visit them to discuss it further, then shut off their communication stream after giving him some coordinates for a temporary base in the city. 

So Keith set off the next morning- a nervousness in his gut along with something else... a sense of hope.

* * *

 The coordinates led to an old dojo studio deep in the city. It had long since closed down- a for sale sign posted on the wide front window.

Keith sighed- a small, faint glimpse of a scene from karate kid teasing at the back of his mind. This was his life now, he supposed.

He idled by the door for a moment, wondering if he should go inside, or was meant to wait outside for further instruction.

People bustled about the streets, busy with Saturday morning errands, and Keith decided it was best not to catch their attention.

He tried at the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked, and eased the door open before he walked in.

It was small but spacious, hardwood floors stretching out to touch each white painted wall. An indoor balcony overlooked the main floor, lined with a dark wood railing to oppose the white walls and maple floors. The entire room was shroud in darkness, and a thin layer of dust laid over everything. The giant windows that surrounded the dojo were muffled by white sheets.

Before Keith could even take a step forward, a voice spoke out.

"Keith."

Heart leaping with shock in his chest, Keith whirled around. He was met with Ulaz, who had somehow made his way right by Keith without his noticing. Ulaz had the lightest tread of anyone Keith knew- probably even more so than Allura. That coupled with his enhanced combat and his powers- the ability to distort reality at his will- made him one of the most dangerous people Keith knew.

"Ulaz," Keith murmured in return, straightening his shoulders. He couldn't help but glance around the studio. "Are any of the others here?"

"No. It will just be you and me today," Ulaz informed. Keith felt a sense of relief, though he was still uneasy. He'd never been alone with Ulaz, before. There had always been the social buffer of their teams- of Shiro and Ulaz's history overshadowing any sort of effort Keith would have to make to get closer to the Blade and its members. 

There was no Shiro, now. Keith had to do this on his own- had to trust in the Galran rebels the way Shiro did. He didn't know how he felt about that.

Keith took a deep breath. 

"Where should we start?"

* * *

 The cab pulled up in front of an old worn down building, sandwiched in by other buildings in a similar state. The red brick was stained and graffitied, and there were no signs indicating what the building currently was meant to be. A ratty old fire escape and broken windows encompassed the upper floors, giving it a foreboding feeling.

Lance hoped he was in the right place.

He paid his driver, stepped out of the cab, and stood facing the place the stranger had asked him to meet at-  _Blue._

It took a lot of research, but Lance eventually discovered that Blue was an old bar- one of the first in the city. It currently served as a speakeasy, but was incredibly difficult to find if you weren't a local. People only learned of its whereabouts by word of mouth, and Lance had discovered that this method of gathering information was very... expensive. Nobody wanted to reveal the location of the speakeasy, not without a cash incentive. It was all incredibly hush hush.

Taking a deep breath, Lance made his way forward, then descended down the staircase before him, leading deep down into the subbasement of the building. He was met with a green door- the paint chipped and worn. He pushed it open, and was met with more stairs that lead down.

Lance descended them, then opened another door. He found himself in a small room, lit with a strange purple light. To his left was a table with an empty vase on it, and a few papers promoting artists. To his right was a bookshelf, and nothing more. 

Distantly, he could hear a thrumming noise- something that sounded distinctly like people talking above some music.

Lucky for Lance, he knew the way into the speakeasy. 

He faced the bookshelf, put his palm on the right side of it, and pushed it aside.

Along with the bookshelf, the wall moved.

The previously muted noise heightened and was clearer, now. Lance could hear people talking and laughing- could hear a live musician strumming their guitar and humming a tune, drowned out by conversation.

Lance stepped in and the bookshelf closed behind him. He was met with a large man wearing a glare and a whole lot of black. He put out his hand, signaling for an ID.

Lance gave him his, and when he got an affirmative nod and was handed it back he made his way inside.

Everything was cast in a warm, low hue of light. Plush, velvety armchairs and couches laid about, and booths cradled the walls and corners of the speakeasy. A small stage was in the center of the longest wall, and it was the focus of the most light in the room. Warm hardwood, long red curtains with gold cords, all drenched in an orange glow- like it was on fire. Everything else was bathed in semi-darkness. 

The bar sat opposite the stage, on the other side of the room. Polished mahogany counters framed the area. The only thing behind the counter was a black door and a wall of liquor. There was only one bartender, and he was watching the musician on stage impartially while wiping the counter.

Lance gathered his courage, and made his way over to the bartender. He took a seat on one of the stools there.

"Hi," he started out lamely. The man turned his indifferent eye towards Lance, and didn't respond. He just stared at him, waiting for Lance to state his importance in some way. Lance swallowed, then tried to set a confident tone. "Are you Leo?"

The man squinted. "What do you want?"

"I'm looking for J.T." 

The bartender, Leo, looked a bit taken aback at that, eyes wide before they squinted.

"Who should I say is asking?"

"Lance McClain."

A pause, and hesitation. Lance held his breath.

"Wait here," Leo said before setting down his dishrag and retreating through the black door.

Lance waited, drumming his fingers against the counter. He wished he'd ordered a drink before making his request, as he was incredibly jittery with nerves. He took a deep, slow breath, trying to calm himself. He'd been in far more dangerous situations than this, he tried to reason with himself. All he had to do was meet up with this guy, get the information he needed, get his photo back, and (ideally) come out of it all alive.

Piece of cake.

A few minutes passed before Leo returned. He looked at Lance, then jerked his head in the direction behind him.

"Come with me."

Lance got off his stool and went behind the bar counter. Leo held open the black door, and jutted his thumb towards it. 

"He's waiting for you."

Lance nodded his thanks, then went through the door.

It shut behind him, bathing him in darkness.

* * *

 Sweat trickled down Keith's temple- the muscles of his arm straining as they lifted the blade up to block Ulaz's lethal attack.

Ulaz had insisted that before he told Keith what he knew, he needed to see his new powers in action first. Keith tried to tell him that that was a terrible idea- that he didn't even know what his powers were, let alone if he could summon them at will. But there was no use trying to argue with a Blade member. When they had their mind set on something, they saw it through.

They'd been sparring for a while, now. The minutes ticked by, yet there was no sign of Keith's alleged new power. Ulaz didn't falter, though, and kept coming at Keith with everything he had. While Keith became an exhausted and sweaty mess, nearly unable to stand on his own feet, Ulaz was just as relaxed as ever. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

It was hopeless. He might as well just let Ulaz run him through with his blade and call it quits.

He barely dodged a slash of a blade aimed at his neck, and whirled a bewildered look towards the Galra.

Frustration boiled beneath Keith's skin, and he let out a shout, throwing his knife so it grazed Ulaz's shoulder and buried itself into the wall.

"This isn't working!" he shouted. "You need to find another way!"

Ulaz paused, standing up straight. Keith thought he'd finally gotten through to him, and felt himself relax, ready to actually sit down and talk this whole mess through.

Then Ulaz sheathed his blade, and spoke.

"Very well."

The room disappeared, and Keith was surrounded by flames. He gasped, recoiling as he looked around himself wildly. Everywhere he looked, fire crept nearer and nearer, licking across the floor towards him.

He heard a cackle, and despite the heat of the room, his blood froze in his veins.

_Haggar._

Keith stumbled towards the noise, and the flames seemed to part for him. He was running, heart pounding.

Then he saw them.

Shiro, holding a bloody knife that protruded through Haggar's shoulder.

_No._

Keith tried to speak, but his voice caught and he choked.

_Not again._

Haggar turned, blasting Shiro with a shock of magic, making him fly back with a pained cry.

She pulled the knife from her shoulder, and advanced towards him, a chuckle in her throat.

A loud, echoing laugh.

Keith stumbled forward, his legs weak.

She reached Shiro, and lifted the knife high.

Keith ran.

_"SHIRO!"_

The knife plummeted down. 

Blood, so much blood, and a scream.

The scream might have been Keith's own. He didn't remember. Arms tugged him back, pulling him away from Shiro's pale, limp figure. He filled to the brim with panic, and a thrum started in his core, quickly overflowing and spilling out his fingertips.

_"NO!"_ he bellowed.

It spilled out.

The blaze whooshed away, extinguished like a simple flame on a match, blown away with a breath.

Everything was loud, then quiet, then dark, and then all he could hear was a ringing in his ears. 

Eventually, a voice reached him.

"Keith," it spoke.

He tried to move, tried to find it.

"Keith," it repeated, louder now. "Wake up," it commanded.

Then it felt like all of Keith's consciousness was sucked back into his body, a terrible pulling feeling until he'd been reunited with himself, and jerked awake.

He sat up with a sharp gasp, arms flailing, reaching for something before they were caught by strong hands.

"You're alright," the voice assured, and Keith's vision focused until he saw Ulaz before him.

He settled, trying to bring himself down, trying to remember where he was. He looked around himself, and lost his breath.

The dojo was charred, as if it'd been burned then immediately put out. 

Ulaz had used his powers against Keith- his ability to warp reality, all to trick Keith into feeling hopeless and cornered.

To force his powers out of him.

Keith felt anger bubble in his chest, and he yanked his arms away.

"What did you do?" he hissed.

Ulaz didn't seem at all phased by Keith's anger.

"Your powers... you have the ability to control the fire element. I wasn't sure, but now I know," he spoke before gesturing around them.

Keith looked at him in a bewildered manner, then back around them at the smoldering remains of the dojo. "You're saying I did this?" he breathed, not wanting to believe it. 

Ulaz didn't move, just gazed at Keith intently. "Do you remember your time in the lab? Before Haggar... in the beginning."

Keith nodded, trying not to recoil and the wave of memories that hit him. His time as an orphan with Shiro... being adopted and brought to Zarkon's research labs, deep in the Alaskan wilderness... and everything that came after.

"I remember."

Ulaz paused, letting Keith settle down from his adrenaline. It was quiet for a few moments.

"You were given these powers back then, as a child... under Doctor Anity...."

Disbelief washed over Keith, and he resisted the urge to push away this information- to deny it and go back home and pretend this never happened.

"I've had... all this time, I've had this in me? These powers?"

Ulaz nodded. "Your time with Haggar activated them. It is a very dangerous power. Very difficult to control. She... spoke very highly of your future capabilities to Zarkon. I didn't know what she meant back then, but now...."

Keith was at a loss. He didn't know what to do- didn't know if there was anything at all to say in this situation. He just sat there, letting it all sink in.

Haggar wasn't done with him. She'd never be- not until his powers would be used in the war, as Zarkon's aid.

Keith was dangerous.

Ulaz stood up from his crouch, and reached a hand out to Keith.

"Come. We will work more on this another time. For now, you need your rest."

Keith gave a shallow, defeated nod. He didn't know what else to do.

He took Ulaz's hand.

* * *

 There was a ring of light at the end of the hall. Lance followed it, until he was met with another door. He fumbled before him for a moment before his fingers found the knob- a cold round metal that sunk into his palm as he grasped it. He turned it, and pushed the door open.

The first thing he noticed was the bed- a small cot in the corner of the tiny storage space. A duffel laid next to it, and beside the bed was a small writing desk, littered with papers and what Lance recognized as various scientific instruments. This was all half concealed by a white sheet which was drawn slightly open.

The room was filled with shelves and shelves of liquor, and a main desk sat off to the side, a calculator and array of papers next to it- filing cabinets stacked to the right. 

Sat at this desk was the man from the bar. He wore his same raggedy coat, his fingers laced as he observed Lance. He made no move to get up, or to speak first, so Lance decided he should take the first step.

He walked forward then stopped, leaving a good few paces between the two of them. The man still did not stand. He just sat reclined in the desk chair, fixing that cold stare on Lance.

It was unbearably silent for a long time before Lance finally spoke up.

"Who the hell are you?"

The stranger seemed to contemplate Lance's question for a long time before he answered. 

"We'll get to that... tell me about your connection to the Red Shadow."

The man gestured to a seat beside him, and Lance hesitated before making his way over to it, and stiffly sitting down.

He took a moment before he spoke.

"He saved my life... the Galra gang were about to... I was in trouble before he stepped in. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him."

The man gazed at Lance, looking intrigued.

"You wrote the anonymous article," he spoke, piecing it together.

Lance's heart launched into his throat, and he nodded. He suddenly wished he'd gone against the stranger's wishes and brought a knife, or some other form of protection. What if this loon was working with the Galra? 

The man seemed irritated, now. "I knew it... ever since your articles on the Red Shadow started circling around... the Galra aren't idiots, kid. Sooner or later they're gonna make the connection and figure you out, too."

Lance tried to seem brave. He assumed he didn't paint the most convincing picture, given by the man's look.

"So be it," he replied.

This seemed to make the man even more angry. "That's a stupid way to think. A lot went towards protecting that life of yours, and there you go... tossing it away."

Lance's brow furrowed, his mouth going dry. "What are you talking about?"

The man regained his composure. He looked away from Lance, and at his own lap. His hand was holding something, but Lance couldn't figure out what.

"Your father was a brave man."

Shock coursed through Lance's veins, freezing him in his spot. 

His mind was racing- a chaotic jumble of thoughts. He wanted to run away, to shout, to jump forward and force an explanation from the stranger. 

He wanted to leave, and pretend he'd never been here in the first place.

"What..." he managed to gasp, but he couldn't say anything more. His body felt too cold to move.

The man chuckled, but it was tired and desolate filled with something Lance couldn't understand. He shook his head, seeming to try and gather his words.

"You don't even know the half of it... you only know what they told you... what was it, again? A random murder? An inexplicable and unprovoked homicide? Did they tell you that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

Not knowing what to say, Lance gaped. Unable to think of an answer, the stranger continued the conversation for him.

"I'll tell you what, that's the furthest thing from the truth."

Lance finally felt the shock slowly drain from his body, an aching warmth slowly ebbing back into his limbs. He tried to speak, but couldn't form any words. He noticed, now, that the man had Lance's old polaroid photo in his hand. He was looking at it sorrowfully.

Finally, Lance found it in himself to speak.

"Who are you?"

The man looked up, meeting Lance's eyes with his own. They were old, and tired, and filled to the brim with secrets- ready to overflow.

"A friend."

* * *

It was late when Keith returned. He wanted nothing more than to fall into his bed and sleep for a day or two, but he immediately sought out Shiro.

He knew his brother was alright, but after that vision... after what Ulaz put him through.

He needed to see him.

After a tip from Coran, Keith found Shiro in his office. It was a small space filled with advanced Altean computers. Shiro was sitting in his desk chair, observing some holographs of information when Keith walked in. When Shiro noticed his presence, he immediately stood up, a smile on his face as he made his way over.

Shiro had hugged him with relief before sitting him down and asking him how it went, and what he discovered. Keith revealed what he knew- he'd been given pyrokinesis by doctor Anity, but his time under Haggar's experimentations had activated it- morphed it into something far more powerful. Something that even the Blade didn't fully comprehend.

Shiro tried his best to hide his worry, but Keith caught it anyway. He felt angry, all of a sudden- angry that he may never truly know himself. Everything that made up Keith felt artificial- given to him by some whack-job who stripped Keith of his humanity and turned him into a war machine.

He was angry, and also afraid.

How could Keith live a normal life? How could he have ever thought of it as a possibility? There was no way he'd be able to leave this all behind- to try and settle down and be happy. Not when he didn't know himself- when his own body didn't belong to him. When he was a war machine just waiting to be unlocked- to put those he loved in danger.

He was just one of Anity and Haggar's experiments. Nothing more.

Shiro seemed to have caught the whirlwind of Keith's thoughts, for he reached forward, grasping both of Keith's arms with his hands. 

"Hey, look at me," Shiro insisted, ducking down to meet Keith's eyes. "Listen... I don't want you to be afraid of yourself, alright? What happened to us... it's terrible. But, Keith... you have had enough uncertainty in your life, and I don't want you to add more. We'll figure this out, just like we did with everything else. It'll be alright."

Keith wanted to protest- to point out that his new powers were still experimental and dangerous, and that it would be in everybody's best interest to steer clear of Keith until he could figure this out, himself. He needed to go through this alone.

Then he realized... that wasn't what he wanted. Not really.

He wanted to get through this with Shiro, and Allura, and Coran. He was scared, and he wanted his family to be there with him.

It may have been selfish, but Keith didn't want to be alone. Not anymore. 

"Yeah," Keith finally spoke up, voice hoarse with emotion, "alright."

Shiro smiled warmly, pulling Keith into a tight hug. Keith returned it, burying his face into his brother's chest as he let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in all this time.

When they parted, Shiro clasped his shoulder. "Now that that's settled, I've got something for you to look at," he spoke up, gesturing for Keith to follow him as he made his way to one of his computers. He pulled up a hologram displayed with an array of information- diagrams, maps, news clippings....

Keith's breath caught in his throat.

"You... you've found it?" he asked, his wide and bewildered eyes meeting Shiro's.

"I think so... almost, at least. I need a second pair of eyes on this," Shiro murmured, seeming frustrated. He picked up a tablet and transferred the information over to it. "Do you think you could give this a look-through?"

Keith nodded, taking the tablet from Shiro's hand. "Yeah," he affirmed. 

Shiro smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Keith."

Then he was back to studying the holograms, a pensive look on his face, and Keith took it as his cue to leave.

* * *

Keith flipped through the files, eyes scanning over them as he walked into the lounge.

"What do you have there?" a voice spoke up, making Keith look up from his tablet.

Allura was sitting on the couch, reading a newspaper--

He caught the sight of "The Red Shadow" on the front page, and turned his head, holding back his curiosity as he felt something not unlike a small knife stab into his heart. 

"It's just a possible lead," Keith spoke up, giving a shrug. "Something Shiro put together... about the labs...."

Allura's eyes went wide. "Do you think they've picked up the experimentation, again?"

"I don't know. That's what we're trying to find out," Keith replied before he plopped himself on the couch next to Allura, and properly opened the file in his hands so he could read through it.

Allura spoke up, again.

"How was your time with Ulaz?" she asked, voice worried. Keith stiffened, exhaustion suddenly overtaking him.

"It was... I'll explain later, okay? I'm just... I'm tired," he explained, and Allura immediately understood. She nudged him gently with her foot, and sent him a soft smile.

"It's alright. Later, then."

Keith gave her a grateful look, and they both got back to their reading. It was silent for a while. Keith got about halfway through Shiro's files before he realized he'd begun to read the same sentence over and over, his eyes itching to glance to the side- to at least  _see_ Lance's name on the page.

“Have you read any of his work?” Allura inquired, making Keith jolt despite himself.

It took him a moment to realize she was talking about Lance.

“No,” he answered truthfully. Not since the first one, at least. Keith couldn’t bring himself to. Every time Lance’s name caught his eye on a newspaper or online article, he couldn’t get himself to find out more.

It was too dangerous.

“It’s about you. All of it. Just pieces about the good you do. I believe he's the only one writing praise pieces. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’ve been garnering a lot of suspicion among the public. Every magazine has an article with some crazed conspiracy about you.”

“I don’t pay attention to tabloids,” Keith murmured, forcing himself to focus as he flipped to the last page of the document. He scanned over it, then sighed. “It’s not enough information... we'll have to contact the Blade and have them keep an ear open.”

He got up and turned to leave, intending to head to the control room straight away.

“Keith,” Allura insisted, and her hand grabbed his arm. Her grasp was weaker than usual, and that made Keith’s heart nearly stop. “You need to slow down.”

Keith put a hand over hers, then met her eyes. He couldn't feel the thrum of her powers- the tingling presence she was normally unable to hide. It had been nearly two days since Allura emerged from the healing pod. She should have been at least a little bit better, by now.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, searching Allura’s eyes for any sort of telltale sign.

She grew defensive, eyes flickering with a certain emotion that Keith couldn’t understand. “I’m fine,” she insisted, drawing her hand away. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

Keith turned to face her fully.

“Read my mind.”

Allura blinked, shocked. “What?”

“I give you permission. You can go through my mind.”

Allura’s face grew emotionless, a warning in it. “No,” she murmured.

Keith was persistent. “You’ve always wanted to. I’m letting you, now. Go ahead.”

"Stop," Allura snapped, but Keith pushed her.

"Why?"

"Because, I..." she broke off, struggling.

"Allura," Keith insisted, softer now. He sat back on the couch close to her, hesitating before putting a hand on her arm.

“I can’t,” Allura whispered, but it was barely a sound. Her voice was so small.

Keith was fearing the worst- waiting for the confirmation. His heart was pounding, dread sinking to his toes. “What do you mean--”

“I mean I  _ can’t.  _ I-I haven’t… been able… it's gone,” Allura’s voice broke. Keith’s throat went dry. He tried to find the words to say.

“Allura….”

“I can… I can feel emotions. I can move them around, but it takes all my strength. My other powers… I can’t touch them. They’re gone.”

“They’re not gone,” Keith insisted, defiance lighting a flame in him despite the fear in his heart. “It’s not possible. You probably just need more rest. And- and if not... we’ll find a way to get you back to normal.”

Allura’s eyes were pleading, now. “How?” she asked. “What can we possibly do? My magic has nothing to do with Haggar's experimentations. It's purely Altean. My planet is dead. We’re on Earth. The technology and information it would take… it’s not in our hands... it's not anywhere.”

“We’ll find a way,” Keith insisted. He put a hand on her shoulder, now, meeting her eyes and trying to reassure her. “This is my fault. And I’m going to fix it. I promise.”

Allura didn’t say anything. Her composure broke- the fear that she’d been hiding so well showed itself, and she leaned forward to pull Keith into a hug. He felt her shake momentarily before she sighed wetly.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t say anything. He just held her tight.

* * *

It was with with a small feeling of reluctance that Keith accepted Pidge's offer to lunch again the following Wednesday. She'd apologized for the awkwardness of their last outing, and promised that this time would be better. Keith insisted it was fine.

He only accepted Pidge's offer so she'd stop looking so damn guilty.

Also... maybe he wanted to see Lance again. Just a little.

So he went to Hunk's cafe, not really knowing what to expect, but still feeling the slightest bit... hopeful? Optimistic?

They walked through the door, and Keith's eyes immediately sought out Lance. He was leaning against the counter, talking loudly to Shay and Hunk before laughing, the beautiful sound of it shooting Keith through the chest like a poison arrow, slowly trickling through his bloodstream.

Terrified. That was it. He was feeling extremely fucking terrified. 

Despite his anxieties, Keith knew nothing within him would allow him to turn around and leave. He walked almost robotically by Pidge's side until they'd joined Lance at the counter. Something must've been said, because Pidge was suddenly in a conversation with Hunk, who seemed to have greeted them both. Keith hoped he said a hello back, but he couldn't be sure.

He couldn't turn himself away from Lance, and felt his breath stop when those blue eyes met his own.

Then Lance smiled- really  _smiled-_ and Keith felt himself involuntarily shiver with the action. He tried to seem nonchalant, giving him a smile back, though he was sure his own was far more nauseous looking than Lance's had been.

"Keith. Hi," Lance spoke, seeming shy. He gave his friends a sideways glance, looking almost as nervous as Keith felt, now. Hunk and Pidge and Shay were clearly watching Lance and Keith's exchange, though they tried poorly to hide it as they talked disinterestedly about the weather.

"Hey," Keith replied, his own voice sounding weird to his ears.

Lance smiled timidly, hand on his neck as he gave his friends one more glance, then stepped towards Keith. He put a hand on his elbow, and it felt like a shock had coursed through Keith's skin. He wondered, if he hadn't had the cover of his jacket to block their skin from touching, if it would've felt more like an electrocution.

Lance led them a few steps away, and Keith allowed him to- his body not his own to guide.

"I wanted to... apologize," Lance murmured, low enough for only Keith to hear. "About before... uh, the last time I saw you," he clarified. Keith swallowed, not knowing what to say- Lance's hand was still on his elbow and he was currently trying to rewire his brain into allowing him to perform basic conversation. Luckily, Lance carried on, "I wasn't kind to you at all, and I'm really sorry. I know it's no excuse but I'd had... a lot going on."

Keith licked his dry lips, finally able to put words together, his concern for Lance overriding his other emotions.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, his voice low. Lance's hand went back to his neck, leaving Keith's elbow in the process. He looked sheepish.

"Uh... yeah... sort of? It's definitely... better. I've just kind of been... buried in my work, I guess. I've discovered some things, and it's a lot and I just feel like I can't... I don't know. I guess I feel trapped in it, right now. If that... makes sense."

Keith managed a small smile. "I know the feeling."

Lance returned the smile, his eyes warm, and he looked off to the side, seeming to delve back into his train of thought.

"Yeah. Anyway, I'm just... really sorry for how I acted. It wasn't fair to you, or Pidge, or Hunk--"

"Lance," Keith assured, "It's alright. Really."

Lance looked relieved at that, and his lighthearted demeanor finally returned. He smiled before putting a hand on Keith's shoulder, leading him back to the counter. 

"I'm gonna get a coffee, and one for you, too. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm just gonna assume you take yours black to match your leather jacket and fingerless gloves aesthetic."

Keith's playful eye roll was all the answer Lance needed, and he laughed in response. 

Keith couldn't help but laugh, too.

* * *

 Keith was in way over his head.

Pidge had left a while ago, coming up with some weak excuse about needing to get back to work immediately for some important computer related emergency. She left, but not without giving Lance and Keith a sly smile and telling them to "have fun", leaving the both of them red faced and emitting awkward laughs.

Keith found he didn't mind, though. He'd get back at Pidge, later. 

For now, he would enjoy this opportunity at being alone with Lance for the first time in over a month.

It was... nice.

They talked about small things. Work, hobbies, just normal stuff. Lance talked about what brought him to the city, his love for writing- the change he was hoping to create through it. The lives he wanted to touch. 

It was all things they'd discussed before, with Keith as Red. But it felt... different, now. More open. More  _real._ Like Keith was hearing it for the first time.

He could listen to Lance talk all day.

Of course, though, the hour drew to a close, and the two reluctantly started to gather their things, getting ready to go back to work.

Before they could leave their table, Lance spoke up.

"So this Friday... there's this overnight event at the aquarium... we were all gonna go, if you wanna come along?"

Keith smiled, his heart fluttering in his chest. He should say no... he shouldn't let this go any further than it already has. He had let himself indulge enough.

But he couldn't help himself.

"Yeah. Sure."

Lance brightened, and Keith had to remember to breathe. "Awesome."

They went out the door, and walked a few blocks together, since they had to head in the same direction to get back to work.

It was towards the end of their walk that Keith noticed something was off. 

Lance had been incredibly talkative at first. He'd been talking about his favorite places to go to as they passed by them, pointing out random pigeons, and complaining about the tourists that cluttered the streets. Everything had been completely normal.

Then it stopped when he checked his phone for a brief minute as they waited to cross a street. Something flickered over his face, and he seemed troubled for a moment before he hid it.

Keith wanted to pry, but decided to give Lance some space.

No matter how much he wanted to know what was going on.

When it came time for them to part ways, Lance hesitated.

Now was Keith's chance.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

Lance immediately nodded. "Yeah, it's... yeah, everything's fine," he replied, though it definitely didn't seem so.

Keith couldn't help himself. "You sure?" he insisted.

Lance paused, now. He was biting his lip, as if trying to keep a secret from leaving his mouth.

Keith was ready to burst with nerves when Lance finally spoke up.

"You work with Pidge..." Lance murmured, mostly to himself. He seemed to be thinking deeply, his eyes flicking as he looked down and away from Keith.

"Yeah," Keith replied, confused by Lance's train of thought.

"As a research scientist?" Lance clarified.

Keith nodded. "Yeah. Lance... where are you going with this?"

"I'm... I'm not sure... it's probably nothing."

It didn't seem like nothing. Lance's hands were restless, as were his eyes. Something was nagging at him.

"What is it?" Keith insisted, his worry rising. 

Lance hesitated, looking Keith up and down. He looked around them nervously before looking back at Keith.

"I think I need your help," he spoke. His voice was frightened, and barely above a whisper.

Everything seemed to go still around them. The thrum of cars, the bustling of people, the general noise of the city went mute. All Keith could see was Lance, all he could feel was an inescapable sense of foreboding.

"What's wrong?" Keith asked, voice serious. He didn't even realize he'd leaned in towards Lance until their arms brushed, and he could see all the details of his face- the freckles that dusted his nose, the torrent of blues that shaded his eyes.

Lance didn't pull away. In fact, he drew closer.

He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“What do you know about the Anity project?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,
> 
> I'm really sorry for the late update. I've been working tirelessly at this chapter for the past year, and now that I understand how I want this story to go you can all start expecting more frequent updates.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this delving into Lance and Keith's background stories! There is so much more to come, and to be revealed, and I'm really excited to share with you all the intricate storyline I've come up with for this AU.
> 
> Thank you all for the continued reviews and support, even after so long without an update! It means a lot, and is what kept me working at this.
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> -Mo


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